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Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1S63, 

By  W.  J.  WIDDLETON, 

[n  the  Cicrk'a  OlHce  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States,  for  the  Southern  District  of 

New  York. 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

SANTA  BARBARA 

4'  Q; 

PREFACE  TO  THE  AMERICM  EDITION. 


John  "Wilson  was,  confessedly,  the  greatest  magazine  writer 
of  his  time.  From  the  establishment  of  Blackwood's  MaxjO- 
zine,  to  the  autumn  of  1852,  his  pen  was  almost  exclusively 
employed  upon  that  periodical.  Two  or  three  volumes  of 
prose  fiction,  and  an  "  Essay  on  Burns,"  for  an  edition  of  the 
peasant-poet's  works,  were  all  that  Wilson  wrote  outside  of 
"  Maga,"  until  he  closed  with  the  final  number  of  the  "  Dies 
Boreales." 

In  the  Magazine,  however,  his  hand  was  to  be  seen,  and 
sometimes  felt,  almost  every  month  during  the  thirty-five 
years  of  his  connection  with  it.  His  genius  was  as  abundant 
as  his  industry  was  tireless.  The  volumes  which  have  been 
selected  from  his  writings  in  Blackwood^  three  of  "  The  Re- 
creations of  Christopher  North,"  and  five  of  the  "  Noctes 
Ambrosianse,"  imperfectly  represent  what  he  supplied.  He 
was  not  only  the  best,  but  also  the  most  fruitful  of  con- 
tributors. 

If  a  man's  life  be  written  by  a  near  relative,  there  usually 
is  the  disadvantage,  that  such  a  biographer  has  a  natural 
tendency  to  take  a  rose-tinted  view  of  personal  character  and 
action, — to  write  rather  an  eulogium  than  a  fair  record  and  a 
just  estimate.  This,  independent  of  other  causes,  is  mainly 
because  of  not  taking  an  outside  view  of  the  departed ;  of 
not  seeing  him  as  he  was  seen  by  the  world.  Yet,  of  the 
five  best  literary  biographies  in  our  language  (Boswell's  John 
son,  Crabbe's  Life  by  his  son,  Moore's  Byron,  Lockhart's  Scott, 
and  Pierre  M.  Irving's  Memoir  of  Washington  Irving),  three 
have  been  written  by  near  relatives. 

The  present  biography  of  John  Wilson,  by  his  daughter, 
is  worthy,  from  its  fairness  and  fulness,  of  a  place  by  the 
others.  Indeed,  from  Johnson  to  Wilson  and  Irving,  as  re- 
lated in  this  series,  the  whole  history  of  British  literature, 
during  one  hundred  and  fifty  years,  may  be  found. 

A  loving  daughter,  solicitous  for  her  father's  reputation, 
Mrs   Gordon  writes  of  him  with  admirable  imDartialitv.     He 


U  PKEFACE   TO    THE    AMERICAN  EDITION. 

was  a  man  of  genius,  with  a  fountain  of  humanity  in  his 
great  heart ;  a  man  eccentric  in  some  things,  but  mean, 
Aneked,  or  tricky,  in  none.  His  home  affections  were  deep- 
rooted,  and  all  who  knew  him  loved  him  dearly.  From  the 
wild  mirtli,  which  he  delighted  to  throw  into  the  immortal 
"  Nuctes,"  the  world  who  did  not  personally  know  him,  fancied 
that  Wilson  was  as  reckless,  humorsome,  and  jovial,  as  he 
represented  their  heroes  to  be.  Mrs.  Gordon's  plain  record 
shows  that  these  very  remarkable  dialogues  were  written  with 
prolonged  toil,  in  a  rapid  manner,  and  upon  no  stronger  in- 
spiration than  a  chicken  for  dinner,  and  tea  or  cold  water 
as  the  beverage  to  follow ! 

This  biography  may  be  called  the  key  to  B^ackvooofVs  2fag- 
azine,  and  particularly  to  the  "  Xoctes."  The  mere  list  of 
Wilson's  contributions,  from  1826  to  1852,  occupies  six  pages 
in  the  Appendix  ;  and  in  the  nine  years  before  1826,  at  least 
two  hundred  other  articles  were  written  by  him.  Rarely  has 
any  author  exhibited  such  abounding  industry,  and,  even 
when  most  careless,  so  little  that  is  common-place  or  feeble. 

The  glimpses  of  Wilson's  contemporaries,  afforded  by  Mrs. 
Gordon,  show  us  Lockhart  and  De  Quincey,  Jeffrey  and  Scott, 
Hartley  Coleridge  and  "  Delta  ;"  and,  above  all,  that  singular 
"  wild  boar  of  the  forest,"  James  Hogg,  the  Ettrick  Shepherd, 
the  redoubtable  hero  of  the  '*  Xoctes,"  and  William  Black- 
wood, the  astute  publisher. 

Mrs.  Gordon  truly  writes  (p.  426) :  "  There  is  no  literary 
man  of  our  land  more  highly  prized,  or  better  appreciated 
in  America  than  Professor  Wilson.  In  that  country  his  name 
is  respected,  and  his  writings  are  well  known.  It  is  doubtful 
if  in  England  he  has  so  large  a  circle  of  admirers." 

The  great  popularity  of  my  own  edition  of  the  "  Xoctes 
Ambrosian^,"  attests  the  accuracy  of  the  above  statement. 
The  best  personal  and  critical  estimates  of  Wilson  were  written 
in  this  country  ;  the  first  vigorously  dashed  off  immediately 
aft-er  the  announcement  of  his  death  in  '•  The  Citizen,"  by 
John  Savage  ;  and  the  other,  a  thoughtful  and  analytic  esti- 
mate of  his  character,  by  Henry  T.  Tuckerman,  which  is  to 
be  found  in  his  ''  Characteristics  of  Literature,"  second  series. 

R.  Shelton  Mackenzie. 

P1111.ADELPHIA,  April  4,  1863. 


PREFACE 


i  HAVE  with  much  misgiving  taken  upon  myself  the  duty  oi 
%vriting  a  Memoir  of  Professor  Wilson,  believing  that  my 
father's  life  was  worthy  of  being  recorded,  and  that  it  would 
bear  to  be  truthfully  told.  I  was  well  aware  of  the  great  diffi- 
culties attending  its  performance,  and  they  proved  not  less  than  I 
anticipated  ;  and  I  knew  that  I  rendered  myself  liable  to  the 
charge  of  presumption  in  undertaking  a  task  declined  by  abler 
hands.  But  I  could  not  give  up  my  persuasion  that  an  imperfect 
picture  of  such  a  man  was  better  than  none  at  all,  and  in  that 
conviction  I  have  done  what  I  could. 

The  many-sided  character  of  the  man  I  have  not  attempted 
to  unfold ;  nor  have  I  presumed  to  give  a  critical  estimate  of 
his  works — they  must  speak  for  themselves.  Now  and  then, 
in  the  course  of  the  narrative,  where  letters  are  introduced  re- 
ferring to  literary  subjects,  I  have  made  a  few  observations  on 
his  writings  ;  but  in  no  other  way,  with  the  exception  of  those 
chapters  devoted  to  BlacTcwood's  Magazine  and  the  Moral 
Philosophy  chair,  have  I  departed  from  my  original  intention 
of  giving  a  simple  domestic  memoir.  If  I  have  in  any  way 
done  justice  to  my  father's  memory  in  this  respect,  I  am  re- 
warded. 


A  V  PEEFACE. 

I  have  availed  myself  of  the  letters  of  my  father's  principal 
correspondeuts,  so  far  as  they  served  to  throw  light  on  the  main 
subject,  or  were  in  themselves  interesting  and  characteristic.  I 
trust,  in  doing  so,  that  I  have  inserted  nothing  calculated  to 
displease  or  give  pain  to  any  now  living.  If  I  have  erred  in 
this  or  othei  respects,  my  inexperience  in  literary  work  must  be 
my  excuse. 

I  have  spoken  of  the  difficulties  that  I  had  to  encounter.  It 
is  now  my  pleasing  duty  to  thank  the  friends  who  have  so 
kindly  lent  me  their  assistance,  without  which  I  should  indeed 
Have  been  much  at  a  loss. 

To  my  brothers,  Mr.  John  Wilson  of  Billholm,  Mr.  Blair 
Wilson,  and  my  brother-in-law.  Professor  Aytoun,  I  am  in- 
debted for  memoranda  and  many  domestic  letters. 

Others,  too  numerous  to  mention  by  name,  will,  I  hope,  ac- 
cept my  thanks  for  their  courteous  kindness  in  rendering  me 
such  service  as  lay  in  their  power. 

To  the  various  students  of  former  days,  who  have  so  heartily 
contributed  their  reminiscences  of  the  "  old  man  eloquent" 
whom  they  loved,  I  offer  my  most  grateful  thanks.  Those  parts 
of  the  work  which  are  chiefly  made  up  of  such  contributions, 
will,  I  am  sure,  be  regarded  by  many  as  among  its  most  valu- 
able and  interesting  contents.  To  Mr.  Hill  Burton,  the  Rev. 
William  Smith,  and  Mr.  A.  T.  Innes,  I  am  under  very  special 
obligations  in  this  respect. 

To  Messrs.  Blackwood  I  am  indebted  for  a  complete  list  of 
my  father's  contributions  to  the  Magazine  from  1826,  which 
has  enabled  me  to  make  use  of  autobiographic  details  otherwise 
inaccessible. 


PREFACE.  V 

To  Mr.  Macduff  of  Bonliard,  and  Mr.  John  Boyd,  Publisher, 
1  am  oblit^ed  for  their  kindness  in  placing  at  my  disposal  the 
correspondence  connected  with  the  publication  respectively  of 
the  Isle  of  Palms  and  oi  Janus. 

Sir  David  Brewster  and  Sheriff  Cay  have  conferred  a  most 
valuable  favor  upon  me  in  permitting  the  use  of  Mr.  Lockhart's 
portfolios. 

To  my  friend,  Mr.  Alexander  Nicolson,  Advocate,  I  am  es- 
pecially indebted  :  his  warm  encouragement  aided  my  labors, 
and  his  judicious  advice  guided  me  in  the  arrangement  of  my 
matdtials,  which,  both  in  MS.  and  in  type,  he  also  carefully 
revised.  The  trouble  which  he  has  kindly  taken  in  connec- 
tion with  this  work  is  such  as  could  have  been  expected  only 
from  one  of  those  whom  Professor  Wilson  loved  to  call  his 
«  children." 

In  conclusion,  I  may  express  my  humble  hope  that  this  vol- 
ume, however  it  may  come  sliort  of  expectation,  will  prove  ac- 
ceptable to  my  friends  and  that  portion  of  the  public  who  love 
and  respect  the  name  of  John  Wilson. 

Edikburgii,  October,  1862. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

BOYHOOD. 


Paisley— Nursery  Amusements— His  First  Fish— Sermon— Oure  John's  Teegar— Mr.  Peddio's 
School— Life  in  the  Mearns  Manse Pages  1-14 

CHAPTER  11. 

GLASGOW   COLLEGE. 

1797-1803. 

His  Father's  Death— Enters  College— Professor  Jardine— Professor  Toting— Diary  in  1801— Por- 
trait by  Eaeburn — Student  Life  in  Glasgow — Fondness  for  Bark-y-sugar— Walking  Feats— Es- 
say Writing — Companions — Letter  to  Wordsworth 14-b2 

CHAPTER  m. 

LOVE  AND  POETRY. — LIFE  AT  OXFORD. 
1803-'08. 

Uychmont — First  Love — Poems  to  Margaret — Oxford — Studies — Expenses — Commonplace-books 
— Cock-fighting — Pugilism — Leaping — Keminiscences  of  Magdalen  College  by  a  Fellow-student 
— College  Anecdotes 32-55 

CHAPTER  IV. 

THE   ORPHAN    MAID. — UNIVERSITY  CAREER. 

1803-'08. 

Letters  to  Margaret  and  to  Mr.  Findlay — Letter  from  Mr.  Blair — Letters  to  Mr.  Flndlay — Let 
ter  frcmi  Mr.  Blair — Examination  for  his  Bachelor  Degree — Letters  to  Mr.  Findlay — End  of  the 
Love  Story ."iS-Tf 

CHAPTER  V. 

LIFE  AT  ELLERAT. 
1807-'ll. 
Description  of  Elleray — The  Old  Cottage — The  New  House — First  Meeting  with  Wordsworth; 
with  De  Quincey — The  Anglers'  Tent — Mathetes — Poetic  Compositions — Boating — His  Fleet 
on  Windermere — Billy  Balmer — Lake  escapade — Hunting  a  Bull — Love  of  Animals — His  Game 
Birds — "A  Main  at  Elleray" — Wrestling— "A  varra  bad  unto  Lick" — Gale  House — Its  Inmates 
—A  Ball;  a  Regatta,  etc. — Letter  to  Mr.  Harden— Letter  to  I)e  Quincey — Poetry — Letters  to  Mr. 
J.  Smith,  Publisher 77- IW 


Vlll  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  YI. 

MARRIAGE. — THE  ISLE  OF  PALMS. 

1S11-'15. 

Letter  to  Mr.  Findlny,  on  the  day  of  his  Marriage— Letters  to  Mr.  Smith  about  "  The  Isle  of  P.ilins'' 
—Lines  on  James  Grahame— Edinburgh,  53  Queen  Street— Letters  to  Mr.  Smith— Plans  for  future 
work  at  Elleray— Loses  his  Fortune— Studies  for  the  Scottish  Bar— Note  from  Mr.  Blair— De- 
parture from  EUeray— Letter  to  De  Quincey Pages  10^-1 1  »> 


CHAPTER   Vn. 

LIFE  IN  EDINBURGH. — THE  BAB. — THE  HIGHLANDS. — ELLEKAT. 
1815-'17. 
Edinburgh— Mrs.  Wilson,  Senior— Called  to  the  Bar— Letter  to  Mrs.  "Wilson,  from  the  "  Head  of 
the  Yarrow"'— The  Shepherd  at  Home — An  Adventure  at  Peebles — A  Pedestrian  Tour  in  the 
Higalands  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wilson  :  their  Adventures — The  great  Caird — Letter  to  Hogg,  giv- 
ing an  account  of  the  Tour— Criticism  on  the  Poets— Letter  to  Mr.  Smith,  proposing  a  new  vol- 
ume of  Poems- Publication  of  "The  City  of  the  Plague" — Letters  to  his  Wife — Letter  to  Mr. 
Smith— Letter  from  Jeffrey  on  his  Poems— Loch  Awe— Letter  to  Mrs.  Wilson,  from  Achlian— 
Adventure  with  Tinkers— His  mode  of  Fishing— Letters  to  Mrs.  Wilson,  from  Blair-Athole  and 
Dingw.all — Adventure  at  Tomintoul — Mrs.  Grant  of  Laggan's  rem.irk8  on  Wilson — At  Elleray — 
Patrick  Eobertson 119-l.VJ 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

LITERATURE. — BLACKWOOD's  MAGAZINE. 

1817-'20. 

His  Connection  with  Periodical  Literature — Edinhurgh  Monthly  Magazine — ^Letter  to  Mrs.  Wil- 
son from  Kinloch  Rannoch — Review  of  Lalla  Eookh— Fishing  Tour — Letters  from  Jeffrey  re- 
garding Contributions  for  the  Edinburgh  Review — Fragment  from  .Jeffrey  regarding  a  Vindica- 
tion of  Wordsworth— State  of  Parties  in  Edinburgh  in  1817 — Establishment  of  BUtckicood — 
Early  Editors  and  Contributors— The  Scots  Magazine — A  change  in  the  Management — Numbej 
VII.— The  New  Contributors — The  Scorpion— The  Leopard — Mr.  Lockhart — John  Wilson — Mr. 
Robert  Syin— James  Hogg— Mystifications— Leigh  Hunt  and  Sir  J.  G.  Dalyell— More  Mystifica- 
tion—Dr.  James  Scott,  7  Miller  Street,  Glasgow,  alias  The  Odontist— Ciptain  Paton's  Lament 
— The  Dilettanti  Club— Letters  from  Mrs.  Wilson  to  her  Sister  Miss  Penny  on  the  Magazine — 
Ensign  O'Doherty — A  Magazine  Row,  etc. — The  Style  of  Criticism  adopted — Letter  to  Professor 
Laugner— The  Attack  upon  Professor  Pl.iyfair — 111  Results — Hypocrisy  Unveiled — Correspond- 
ence with  the  Author — Letter  from  Mr.  Morehead— Letter  to  Mr.  Morehead — Letter  from  Jeff- 
rey, vindicating  the  Edinburgh  liemew  from  the  Charge  of  Infidelity 153-19S 

CHAPTER  IX. 
MORAL   PHILOSOPHY   CHAIR. 
1820. 
Eemoves  to  Ann   Street— Sir  Henry  Raeburn — Sir  John  Watson  Gordon — Sir  Willi-im  Allan- 
Death  of  Dr.  Thomas  Brown — Announces  himself  as  a  Candidate  for  the  C^h.air  of  Moral  Philos- 
ophy— Sir  William  Hamilton — Fierce  opposition  by  the  Whig  party — Letters  from  Mrs.  Wilson 
on  the  struggle — Letters  to  Rev.  J.  Fleming  and  Mrs.  Grant  of  Laggan  for  a  Certificate  as  to 
Character— Mrs.  Grant's  reply— Letter  from  Sir  Walter  Scott — His  Election— Letter  from  Mrs. 
WiKson  on  her  husband's  success — Letter  to  Mr.  Smith — Preparations  for  his  Lectures — Corre- 
spondence with  Dr.  Blair — A  Fancy  Sketch  of  the  new  Professor  in  his  Study — Correspondence 
with  Blair — Opening  Lecture  of  his  First  Course 19S-'22i 


COISTENTS.  IX 

CHAPTER  X. 

THE  PROFESSOR  AND  HIS  CLASS. 
His  Syllabus — The  Professor  in  his  Sporting  Jacket — Adventure  in  Hawick— "A  little  Mill"'— 
Makes  two  Students  at  home  in  Ann  Street — The  Professor  and  his  "  Children''  at  St.  Mary's 
Loch — Mr.  Hill  Burton's  lietniniscenees  of  the  winter  of  1S30 — A  Market-day  atTarland — A  kind 
Teacher — A  Dinner  at  Gloucester  Place — His  Class — Saturday — A  Snow-ball  lliot — Any  Old 
Clothes?— "Sir  Peter  Nimmo"  and  the  poet  Wordsworth — Dr.  Syntax — A  "Conservative"  Meet- 
ing—Politics in  the  Class — Rev.  Mr.  Smith's  Recollections  of  1S37 — As  a  Lecturer- His  Course 
for  1S37-1838 — Illustration,  the  Love  of  Power — His  Power  as  an  Orator— "The  Demosthenes  of 
Ireland" — An  Episode  in  the  Class-room — His  Care  and  Industry  in  Examining  the  Students' 
Essays — His  Kindness  to  them  privately — The  Session  for  1860-1851 — Mr.  A.  Taylor  Innes — 
"Professor  Wilson's  Gold  Medal" — The  Origin  of  the  Moral  Faculty — His  Appearance  in  the 
Class-room — An  Unmannerly  Student Pages  225-256. 

CHAPTER  XL 

LITERARY   AND   DOMESTIC  LIFE. 

18  20-' 2  6. 
Lays  from  Fairy  Land — Devotion  to  the  Magazine,  and  Friendship  for  Mr.  Blackwood — Lights 
and  Shadows  of  Scottish  Life — A  Summer  in  Elleray  once  more — Letter  from  Mr.  Blackwood — 
Letter  from  Mr.  Lockhart  on  Mr.  Leigh  Hunt — The  Gormandizing  School  of  Eloquence — Miss 
Edgeworth,  etc.,  etc. — Tom  Purdie — Willie  Laidlaw,  etc. — Letters  from  Mr.  Blackwood  regarding 
the  Magazine — Another  Summer  at  Elleray — Letter  from  Mr.  Blackwood — Letters  from  Mr. 
Lockhart — The  People  he  met  in  London — Edward  Irving's.Preaching  described — Partj'  Politics 
— U^'^rary  Gossij) — Old  Slop  and  the  New  Timta — S.  Daily  Paper  at  the  Breakfast-table,  etc. — 
Letter  from  De  Quincey — Hill  on  Education — The  "Breeches"  Review — "A  Confession" — Acci- 
dent to  Mrs.  Wilson — Letter  to  Mr.  11.  Findlay — Death  of  Mrs.  Wilson,  Senior — Letter  from 
Principal  B.aird — Removal  to  Gloucester  Place — The  Proposed  Chair  of  Political  Economy — 
Letters  from  Mr.  Patrick  Robertson,  Mr.  Huskisson,  Mr.  Canning,  and  Sir  Robert  Peel  on  the 
Subject — Literary  work — Projected  "  Outlines" — Correspondence  of  Mr.  Lockhart  and  Mr.  Wil- 
son on  "Janus" — Letters  from  Mr.  Lockhart  on  Sir  Walter's  visit  to  Elleray — Letter  from  Pro- 
fessor Jameson — Letter  from  Mr.  Lockhart  on  Canning — W.  Maginn — Letter  from  Mr.  Black 
wood — Letter  to  Delta  on  "Janus" — Illness  of  Mrs.  Wilson — Letter  from  Mr.  Lockhart,  on  be- 
coming  Editor  of  the  Quarterly  Review — Work  during  1826 — Letters  to  Mrs.  Wilson  from  Ken- 
dal—Colonsay  256-298 

CHAPTER   XII. 

LITERARY    AND    DOMESTIC   LIFE. 

1827-'29. 
As  a  Friendly  Critic — Letter  to  Delta — Views  on  Free  Trade — "  Mansie  Waugh,"  etc. — Notes  tti 
Mr.  Ballantyne — Innerleithen — Letter  to  Mr.  Fleming,  Rayrig,  on  "Christoidier  North,"  etc.— 
Letters  to  Mrs.  Wilson — Hartley  Coleridge — Contributions  for  182S — Letters  from  Allan  Cun- 
ningham, regarding  "  The  Anniversary,"  "  Edderline's  Dream,"  etc. — Mrs.  Wilson  to  Miss  Penny 
— "Evening  at  Furness  Abbey" — Letter  from  James  Hogg,  declining  an  invitation  to  Elleray — 
Letter  to  Mr.  Fleming — Letter  from  Thomas  Carlyle— Letter  from  Mr.  Lockhart — Contest  for 
Oxford  University,  1829 — Letter  to  De  Quincey,  on  his  Sketch  of  the  Professor — Thomas  De 
Quincey — Affection  for  him — His  visit  to  Gloucester  Place 299-  32S 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

LITERARY  AND  DOMESTIC  LIFE. — CRUISE  WITH  THE  EXPERIMENTAL  SQUADRON. 

1830-'32. 
Home  Life  in  Glouc^jster  Place — Letters  to  Mrs.  Wilson  from  Penny  Bridge  and  Westmoreland- 
Homeric  Papers — Letter  from  Sotheby — Letter  from   Miss  Watson — A  Conservative  Meeting 


X  CONTE>TS. 

and  Liberal  Commentary — Critieism  on  Tennvson — Letter  to  5Jrs.  "Wilson  on  his  Cmise  with 

the   Experimental  Sqnadron — London — Greenwich — H.  M.  S.  the  "Vernon" — Sheemess — On 

board  the  *•  Vernon" — A  Sailor's  Death  at  Sea — Plymouth — The  "  Campeadora" — The  "  Vernon" 

-Holystoning — Off  the  Lizard — Land's  End — Cork — London  and  Home Pages  32S-359 

CHAPTER  xrr. 

LTTEHAHT  ASD  DOMESTIC  LIFE. 
1832-37. 
Letter  from  an  Author  to  a  Critic — Political  Feelinp — Paper  on  Ebenezer  Elliot,  and  Letter  frtm 
him — "  Come  and  break  a  ton"  of  iron — Letter  from  Mr.  Audubon — From  Rev.  James  White 
of  Bonchurch — Letters  to  James  Hogg — "The  Shepherd's  Reconciliation"' — An  Autumn  in 
Ettrick— Rover  and  the  Witch— Pets— A  Dog  Fighi— Thirlstane  Castle — Letters  to  Mrs.  Wilson 
from  Edinburgh — Mr.  Blackwood's  Illness  and  Death — Letters  from  the  Clyde  to  Mrs.  Wilson — 
Public  Dinner  at  Paisley — Last  Letter  from  Mrs.  Wilson  to  her  Sister— Illness  and  Death  of 
Mrs.  Wilson..     3o9-SS3 

CHAPTER   XY. 

LITEEART  AXD  DOMESTIC  LIFE. 
1837-'-i4. 
Depression  of  Spirits — Life  at  Eoslin — Marriage  of  his  Daughters — His  main  work  that  of  a 
Teacher — His  little  ways  at  Home — Pets — The  Sparrow — His  Dogs :  Bronte — Tory — Grog — 
Game  Birds — A  new  Coop — A  Xote  to  Delta  on  the  Dispersion  of  his  Aviary — Work  fi>r  the 
Tear — Letters  to  Mr.  Aird  on  Biu-ns — Had  Burns  Family  Worship  at  Dumfries? — The  Pro- 
fessor's Study — Writing  for  Blackwood — Habit.'*  of  Composition — Letter  to  Mr.  Flndlay  from 
Rothesay — Cladich — A  Fairy's  Funeral — Letter  to  his  Daughter  describing  Billholm — Review 
of  Macanlay's  Lays— Letter  to  Dr.  Moir SS3-407 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

LITERARY  AXD  DOMESTIC  LIFE 
lS44-'48. 
Characteristic  Letters  from  John  Gibson  Lockhart — The  Kemp  Absurdity — Maga — ^Novel  Read- 
ing, etc. — Letter  to  his  son  John  on  Domestic  matters — "The  KemD  Affair' — Walking  Feats — 
The  Burns  Festival — Letter  to  Sheriff  Gordon — Letters  from  Sergeant  Talfourd.  excusing  him- 
self from  attendance  at  the  "Festival" — Letter  to  Aird — Letter  to  his  daughter  Jane — Fishing 
in  the  Dochart — Letter  to  his  daughter  Jane — Maga  Articles  resumed  in  IS4o — British  Critics — 
EUeray — Letter  to  Sheriff  Gordon,  asking  him  to  edit  an  Article  of  his  for  Blackwood — Opening 
of  Edinburgh  Philosophical  Institution,  of  which  he  was  elected  President — Mt-laneholy  Reflec- 
tions— Letter  to  Mr.  Findlay  requesting  his  presence  at  the  Marriage  of  his  son  John — Visit  to 
the  newly  Married  Pair — Resolves  not  to  return  to  Elleray — Weakness  in  the  Hand,  writes  con- 
sequently with  difficulty — Byron's  "  Address  to  the  Ocean" — Peculiarities  of  Dress — Still  in 
Mourning  for  his  Wife —  A  Street  Scene — A  Carter  defeated — Humanity  to  Animals — Visits  to 
London — Sitting  for  a  Portrait — Conversational  Powers — Reminiscences  of  Social  Meetings — 
Jeffrey's  Receptions — Lord  Robertson — The  Professor's  Songs — Sailor's  Life  at  Sea — Anld 
Laug  Syne—"  A  Quaint  Ballad" 407-432 

CHAPTER    XVII. 

CLOSIXG   YEARS. 

1849-'54: 

'•Dies  Boreales" — Rituals  of  the  Church — The  Scottish  Service — Marriage  of  his  youngest  daugh 

ter  to  Professor  Aytoun — Playful  ways — Toilet   peculiarities — His  Watch — Hat — Snuff-box — 

Gloves,  etc,  etc. — Horror  of  Gas — Love  of  Children — Letter  to  his  second  son  Blair,  mentioning 


CONTENTS.  XI 

"  Billy's"  Death — Letter  to  his  son  Blair — The  "  Dear  Doctor" — From  College  Duties  on  account 
of  111  Health — Illness — Desire  to  return  to  his  Labors — Excursion  to  the  Highlands  in  search  of 
Health — Passion  for  Angling — Visit  to  his  Brother  at  Woodburn — Determines  to  retire  from 
Active  Life — Letter  from  the  Lord  Advocate  to  Sheriff  Gordon,  conveying  the  news  of  the  Grant 
of  a  Pension  of  £300  per  annum — Letter  from  Lord  John  Russell  to  the  Lord  Advocate,  desiring 
him  to  have  the  Queen's  intentions  mentioned  to  Wilson — Receives  the  News — Letter  of  Ac- 
knowledgment to  Lord  John  Russell — Takes  up  his  abode  at  Woodbum — Last  Papers  for  Mag- 
azine— Step  feeble  and  unsteady — Letter  to  his  son  Blair,  thanking  him  for  supplies  of  Books — 
Macaulay  a  Candidate  for  the  Representation  of  Edinburgh — Comes  to  Edinburgh  and  Votes 
for  Macaulay — Letter  from  Macaulay  to  Sheriff  Gordon,  expressing  his  kindly  feelings  towards 
the  Professor — Last  Visit  of  Mr.  Lockhart— Letter  to  Robert  Findiay,  congratulating  him  on  the 
Marriage  of  his  Son — At  Gloucester  Place  again — The  Last  Christmas — Seized  with  a  Shock  of 
Paralysis— Rapid  Decline— The  End Pages  432-462 


APPENDIX. 

L — Public  Funeral  and  Proposed  Statue 463 

II. — Correspondence  relating  to  Janus 4&4 

ni.— List  of  Professor  Wilson's  Contributions  to  Blackuioodrt  3fagamine  from  1S26 470 

biuEx  477 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Portrait — from  a  Photograph  (froxtispeece), 

"  The  Strictures  of  the  Eddtbcrgh  Review,  cox- 

SIDERED   AT   A   PRIVATE   MeETIXG   OF   THE   CaPUT." 


ilR.  Patrick  Robertson*, 
The  "  Leopard," 
The  "Scorpiox,"     . 
A  Scotch  Minister, 
A  Scotch  Judge,     . 
Mr.  Gibsok  Lockhart, 
Sib  "WiLLiAit  Hamiltox, 


AKTIST. 

PAoa 

D.  0.  HII.T,. 

J.  G.  LOCKHART. 

54 

PROF.  E.  FORBES 

151 

J.  G.  LOCKHART. 

165 

DO. 

169 

DO. 

173 

DO. 

177 

DO. 

185 

DO. 

203 

MEMOIR  OF  JOHN  WILSON. 


CHAPTER    I. 


BOYHOOD. 


The  epithets  "  pretty"  and  "  pleasant,"  more  than  once  applied 
in  the  writings  of  Professor  Wilson  to  the  place  of  his  birth,  are 
not  those  which  the  passing  traveller  would  now  think  most  appro- 
priate to  the  town  of  Paisley,  Avhere  the  smoke  and  steam  of  count- 
less factories  incessantly  roll  over  the  inky  waters  of  once  fair-flow- 
ing Cart.  And  yet  it  was  not  the  mere  partiality  of  filial  aftection 
that  made  it  seem  both  pretty  and  pleasant  to  his  eyes,  for  such  it 
truly  was  in  the  days  when  he  first  knew  it.  And  has  it  not  still 
its  pleasant  walks  and  pretty  gardens,  and  its  grand  old  Abbey  ? 
Do  not  green  Gleniffer  and  Stanley  Shaw  still  flourish  near  enough 
to  be  enjoyed  ?  Is  it  not  pleasant  still  to  look  beyond  fields  and 
trees  to  the  sacred  spot  called  Elderslle  ?  And  though  gauze  and 
cotton  be  even  more  than  ever  the  chief  concern  of  Paisley,  has  it 
not  still  its  poets  and  musicians  and  men  of  taste,  to  make  it  a 
"  pleasant"  habitation,  in  spite  of  smoke  and  steam  and  sluggish 
waters  ?  No  native  of  that  respectable  old  town  need  be  ashamed 
of  his  birthplace,  and  justly  is  it  proud  of  him  who  stands  foremost 
among  all  its  sons. 

A  somewhat  gloomy-looking  house  in  a  dingy  court  at  the  head 
of  the  High  Street,  now  used  as  a  lecture-hall  for  the  artisans  of 
Paisley,  is  preserved  as  classic  ground,  under  the  name  of  "  Wil- 
son's Hall."  In  that  house  the  poet  was  born,  on  the  18th  of  May, 
1785.  At  no  great  distance  stands  the  fiunily  residence,  to  which, 
after  the  birth  of  John,  their  first  son  but  fourth  child,  Mr.  and 
1 


2  MEMOIR   OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

Mrs.  Wilson  removed.  It  is  a  stately  building,  Avitli  large  gardens, 
and  an  imposing  entrance.  The  windows  to  tlie  back  command  an 
extensive  view  of  a  beautiful  undulating  country,  with  the  nearer 
prospect  of  a  woody  vale  and  rich  sloi)ing  tii-lds,  a  landscape  suffi- 
ciently attractive  to  have  awakened  the  love  of  nature  in  a  child's 
heart,  and  to  have  held  dominion  there  in  after  days,  when  memory 
recalled  the  home  of  youth,  and  those  delightful  pictures  of  boy- 
hood's life  which  were  immortalized  in  the  "  Recreations  of  Chris- 
topher North."  Of  Mr.  Wilson,  senior,  I  know  little  more  than 
that  he  was  a  wealthy  man,  having  realized  his  fortune  in  trade  as 
a  gauze  manufacturer.  The  integrity  of  his  character  and  his  mer- 
cantile successes  gave  him  an  important  position  in  society,  and  he 
is  still  remembered  in  Paisley  as  having  been  in  his  own  day  one 
of  the  richest  and  most  respected  of  its  community;  while  his 
house  possessed  a  great  attraction  in  his  admirable  and  beautiful 
M'ii'%  a  lady  of  rare  intellect,  wit,  humor,  Avisdom,  and  grace.  Her 
nu'iden  name  was  Margaret  Sym.  Her  brother  Robert  is  not 
unknown  to  fame,  as  the  "Timothy  Tickler"  of  the  Hoctes  Atnhro- 
sianm.  Her  mother,  of  the  Dunlops  of  Garnkirk,  was  lineally 
descended,  by  the  female  side,  from  the  great  Marquis  of  Montrose. 
Whether  this  gentle  blood  had  any  thing  to  do  with  the  physical 
characteristics  of  the  family  or  not,  certain  it  is  that  Mrs.  Wilson, 
her  sons  and  daughters,  were  remarkably  distinguished  by  personal 
beauty,  of  a  refined  and  dignified  type.  An  aspect  so  stately  as 
*>hat  of  the  old  lady  is  not  often  to  be  seen.  Nor  was  she  less 
gifted  with  qualities  more  durable  than  beauty ;  for  ere  long  she 
was  called  upon,  by  the  death  of  her  husband,  to  exercise  the 
wisdom  and  strength  of  her  chaiacter  in  rearing  a  large  family  of 
sons  and  dauglitei's.  How  well  she  performed  that  duty  was  best 
seen  in  the  reverence  and  love  of  her  children,  all  of  whom,  save 
two  sons  and  a  daughter,  lived  to  shed  tears  over  her  grave,  and 
to  give  proof,  in  their  own  lives,  of  that  admirable  training  which 
liad  taught  them  betimes  the  way  that  they  should  go.* 

*  It  win  not  be  out  of  place  hi!rc  to  give  the  names  of  the  ton  children  born  to  Mr.  Wilson  and 
his  wife : — 

1.  Grace  Wilson,  married  George  Cashel,  Esquire,  Ireland;  died,  1S35.  3.  Jane  Wilson,  dieil 
nnmarriefl,  lb35.  3.  Margaret  Wilson,  married  John  Ferrier,  Esquire,  W.  8.,  E<llnburgh;  died, 
1831.  4.  John  Wilson,  married  Miss  Jane  Penny;  died,  1 864.  5.  Andrew  Wilttoii,  ni.vrlcd  Miss 
Aitlien,  Glasgow;  died.  1812.  6.  Henrietta  Wilson,  died  young.  7.  William  Wilson,  died  in 
lafancy  8.  Uobert  Sym  Wilson,  married  Miss  Eliza  Penny.  9.  Elizabeth  Wilson,  married  Si/ 
Jehu  M'Ntill.  G.  C.  B.     10.  James  Wilson,  married  Miss  Isabella  Keith,  Edinburgh;  died,  185C 


BOYHOOD.  3 

In  liis  childish  years,  John  Wilson  was  as  beautiful  and  animated 
A  creature  as  ever  played  in  the  sunshine.  That  passion  lur  sports, 
and  especially  angling,  in  which  his  strong  nature  found  such  char- 
acteristic vent  in  after  years,  was  developed  at  an  age  when  most 
little  boys  are  still  hardly  safe  beyond  the  nurse's  api'on-strings. 
lie  was  but  three  years  old  when  he  rambled  off  one  day,  armed 
with  a  willow  wand,  duly  furnished  with  a  thread  line  and  crooked 
pin,  to  fish  in  a  "  wee  burnie,"  of  which  he  had  taken  note,  away  a 
good  mile  from  home.  Unknown  to  any  one,  already  appreciating 
the  fascination  of  an  undisturbed  and  solitary  "  cast,"  the  blue-eyed 
and  golden-haired  adventurer  sallied  forth  to  the  water- side,  to 
spend  a  day  of  unforgotten  delight,  lashing  away  at  the  rippling 
stream,  with  what  success  we  may  perhaps  find  recorded  in  Fytte 
First  of  "  Christopher  in  his  Sporting  Jacket :" — 

"A  tug — a  tug!  With  face  ten  times  flushed  and  pale  by  turns 
ere  you  could  count  ten,  he  at  last  has  strength,  in  the  agitation  of 
his  fear  and  joy,  to  pull  away  at  the  monster ;  and  there  he  lies  in 
his  beauty  among  the  gowans  and  the  greensward,  for  he  has 
whapped  him  right  over  his  head  and  far  aAvay,  a  fish  a  quarter  of 
an  ounce  in  weight,  and,  at  the  very  least,  two  inches  long!  Off 
he  flies,  on  wings  of  wind,  to  his  father,  mother,  and  sisters,  and 
brothers  and  cousins,  and  all  the  neighborhood,  holding  the  fish 
aloft  in  both  hands,  still  fearful  of  its  escape ;  and,  like  a  genuine 
child  of  corruption,  his  eyes  brighten  at  the  first  blush  of  cold  blood 
on  his  small  fumy  fingers.  He  carries  about  with  him,  up-stairs 
and  down-stairs,  his  prey  upon  a  plate ;  he  will  not  wash  his  hands 
before  diimer,  for  he  exults  in  the  silver  scales  adhering  to  the 
thumb-nail  that  scooped  the  pin  out  of  the  baggy's  maw ;  and  at 
night,  '  cabined,  cribbed,  confined,'  he  is  overheard  murmuring  in 
his  sleep — a  thief,  a  robber,  and  a  nmrderer,  in  his  yet  infant 
dreams !" 

While  the  future  Christopher  was  thus  early  asserting  himself 
out  of  doors,  the  "Professor"  also  was  displaying  his  capacity  in 
the  nursery.  There  his  activity  and  animation  kept  the  little  circle 
alive  from  morning  to  night.  With  his  sisters  he  was  a  great 
favoi'ite;  they  looked  up  to  his  superior  intelligence,  and  wondered 
at  all  he  did.  Of  in-door  amusenients,  the  most  exciting  to  their 
youthful  minds  and  his  precocious  genius  was  that  of  pulpit  ora- 
tory.    One  sermon  he  used  himself  to  speak  of  as  being  a  chef- 


4  MEMOIR   OF   JOHN    "\^^LSON. 

cToetivre.  So  much  was  it  appreciated,  that  he  Avas  continually 
called  on  to  repeat  it.  Standing  upon  a  chair,  arranged  to  look  as 
like  a  pulpit  as  possible,  he  would  address  his  juvenile  congrega- 
tion, along  with  the  more  mature  audience  of  nurses  and  otlier 
servants  assembled  to  listen  to  his  warning  voice.  The  text  chosen 
"vras  one  from  his  own  fertile  braiu,  drawn  from  that  field  of  expe- 
rience in  which  he  was  already  becoming  an  adept,  and  handled 
not  without  shrewd  application  to  uioral  duties.  Tliese  were  the 
words  :  "  There  was  a  fish,  and  it  was  a  deil  o'  a  fish,  and  it  was 
ill  to  its  young  anes."  In  this  allegory  of  life  he  displayed  both 
pathos  and  humor,  drawing  a  contrast  between  good  and  evil 
parents  that  excited  sympathy  and  laughter,  while  the  sermon  was 
delivered  with  a  vehemence  of  natural  eloquence  that,  in  a  boy  of 
five  years  old,  may  well  have  entitled  him  to  be  looked  upon  as  a 
genius. 

One  other  anecdote  may  here  be  given,  which  he  used  to  tell 
with  much  humor.  As  a  child,  he  was  very  fond  of  drawing,  an 
accoraplishmeut  he  regretted  in  after  life  having  laid  aside,  before 
he  had  acquired  sufficieut  skill  to  enable  liim  to  sketch  from  nature. 
One  day  he  had  copied  a  tiger,  and,  no  doubt,  having  given  to  the 
animal  considerable  characteristic  vigor,  his  mother — with  natural 
mother's  pride — treasured  the  specimen  highly.  He  was  not  aware 
of  the  sensation  this  juvenile  success  in  art  had  created,  till  one 
morning  a  visitor  was  announced  when  he  was  present,  and  was 
scarcely  seated,  ere,  to  his  surprise,  she  was  accosted  by  Mx's.  Wil- 
son with  the  words,  pronounced  in  broad  Scotch,  as  was  the  manner 
in  those  days  with  many  well-educated  people,  "Have  ye  seen  oure 
John's  teegar?"  when  forthwith  the  "teegar"  was  exhibited  to  the 
admiring  eyes  of  her  guest.  It  was  not  long  before  "  oure  John's 
teegar"  was  well  known  in  Paisley.* 

The  time  had  now  come  when  the  training  of  the  nursery  was  to 
be  followed  by  regular  education  at  school,  and  John  was  commit- 
ted to  the  tuition  of  Mr.  J.'uues  Peddie,  English  teacher.  Paisley. 
To  a  child  who  loved  to  learn,  the  drudgery  of  a  first  apprentice- 
ship at  school  would  never  be  irksome.     A  year  or  two  with  Mr. 

*  In  Flight  First  of  "  The  Moors,"  I  find  an  allusion  to  this  work  of  art.  "  Stranee  that,  with  all 
our  love  of  nature  anJ  of  art,  \vc  never  were  a  painter.  True  that  in  Uiyhou.l  we  were  no  eon- 
ti-mptible  hand  at  a  lion  or  a  tiger — and  sketches  by  us  of  such  cats  springing  or  preparing  ta 
spring  in  keelivine,  dashed  off  some  fifty  or  sixty  years  ago,  might  well  make  Edwin  Landseei 
•tare." 


BOYHOOD.  a 

Peddle  prepared  him  to  enter  upon  more  arduous  studies.  He  left 
the  teacher  of  his  childhood  with  regret. 

The  kindness  and  partiaUty  with  which  he  loved  to  speak  of  his 
friends  in  Paisley,  may  be  seen  in  the  words  he  made  use  of  in 
reference  to  this  old  friend,  as  he  was  taking  leave  of  duties  he  had 
followed  for  upwards  of  half  a  century.  They  are  honorable  alike 
to  master  and  pupil : — 

"  It  was  his  method  rather  to  persuade  than  enforce,  and  they  all 
saw,  even  amidst  the  thoughtlessness  of  boyhood,  that  their  teacher 
was  a  cfood  man ;  and  therefore  it  was  their  delight  and  pride  to 
please  him.  Sometimes  a  cloud  would  overshadow  his  brow,  but 
it  was  succeeded  by  a  smile  of  pleasure  as  gracious  and  benign  as 
the  summer  sky.  In  his  seminary,  children  of  all  ranks  sat  on  the 
same  form.  In  that  school  there  was  no  distinction,  except  what 
was  created  by  superior  merit  and  industry,  by  the  love  of  truth, 
and  by  ability.  The  son  of  the  poor  man  was  there  on  the  same 
form  with  the  sons  of  the  rich,  and  nothing  could  ever  drive  him 
from  his  rightful  status  but  misconduct  or  disobedience.  No  per- 
son would  deny  that  the  office  of  a  teacher  of  youth  was  one  of  the 
most  important  in  this  world's  affairs.  A  surly  or  ignorant  master 
might  scathe  those  blossoms,  w^hich  a  man  of  sense  and  reflection, 
by  his  fostering  care,  would  rear  up  till  they  became  bright  con- 
summate flowers  of  knowledge  and  virtue." 

Tlie  Manse  of  the  neighboring  parish  of  Mearns  was  the  next 
l)lace  fixed  upon  by  Mr.  Wilson  to  continue  the  education  of  his 
son ;  and  there  he  found  a  dolce  pedagogo  fitted  in  every  way  to 
carry  on  the  instruction  in  knowledge  and  virtue  so  well  begun  un- 
der the  good  Mr,  Peddie.  The  Rev.  George  M'Latchie  won  no  less 
a  share  of  his  pupil's  veneration — "  the  minister  in  whose  house  he 
jmsscd  many  of  his  sweetest  youthful  days,  and  who  regarded  him 
with  a  paternal,  as  he  always  looked  up  to  Mm  with  a  filial 
regard."  That  warm  heart  was  ever  ready  with  its  tribute  of 
aftection  to  the  memory  of  good  men ;  and  amid  the  tender  recol- 
lections of  the  past,  hallowed  by  sentiments  of  gratitude,  no  place 
is  more  touchingly  alluded  to  than  "  the  dear  parish  of  Mearns." 
Whoever  wishes  to  find  a  jjcrfect  description  of  its  physical  features, 
as  well  as  most  exquisite  pictures  of  the  youthful  pleasures  on  which 
memory  cast  back  a  glory,  must  turn  to  the  pages  of  the  Kecrea- 
tions,  particularly  to  the  papers  entitled  "  Our  Paiish,"  " Christo- 


6  MEMOIR    OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

pher  in  Lis  Sporting  Jacket,"  and  "  May  Day."  From  the  latter 
I  cannot  resist  the  quotation  of  the  opening  paragraph,  perliaps 
the  most  beautiful  of  his  many  apostrophes  to  that  beloved  re- 
gion : 

"  Art  thou  beautiful,  as  of  old,  O  wild,  moorland,  sylvan,  and 
pastoral  Parish  !  the  Paradise  in  which  our  spirit  dwelt  beneath  the 
glorious  dawning  of  life — can  it  be,  beloved  world  of  boyhood,  that 
thou  art  indeed  beautiful  as  of  old  ?  Though  round  and  round  thy 
boundaries  in  half  an  hour  could  fly  the  flapping  dove — though  the 
martins,  wheeling  to  and  fro  that  ivied  and  wall-flowered  ruin  of  a 
castle,  central  in  its  own  domain,  seem  in  their  more  distant  flight 
to  glance  their  crescent  wings  over  a  vale  rejoicing  apart  in  another 
kirk-spire,  yet  how  rich  in  streams,  and  rivulets,  and  rills,  each  with 
its  own  peculiar  murmur,  art  thou,  with  thy  bold  bleak  exposure, 
sloping  upwards  in  ever  lustrous  undulations  to  the  portals  of  the 
East!  How  endless  the  interchange  of  woods  and  meadows,  glens, 
dells,  and  broomy  nooks,  without  number,  among  thy  banks  and 
braes!  And  then  of  human  dwellings! — how  rises  the  smoke,  ever 
and  anon,  into  the  sky,  all  neighboring  on  each  other,  so  that  the 
cock-crow  is  heard  from  homestead  to  homestead ;  while,  as  you 
wander  onwards,  each  roof  still  rises  unexpectedly,  and  as  solitary 
as  if  it  had  been  far  remote.  Fairest  of  Scotland's  thousand  par- 
ishes— neither  Plighland  nor  Lowland — but  undulating — let  us  again 
use  the  descriptive  word — like  the  sea  in  sunset  after  a  day  of  storms 
• — yes.  Heaven's  blessing  be  upon  thee !  Thou  art  indeed  beautiful 
as  of  old !" 

Of  the  precocity  of  this  boy  there  is  evidence  enough  ;  but,  unlike 
most  precocious  children,  he  was  foremost  in  the  play-ground  as 
well  as  at  the  task.  With  him  both  work  and  i)'ay  were  equally 
enjoyed,  and  he  threw  his  whole  energy  into  the  one  or  other  iii 
its  turn.  In  school  he  was  every  inch  the  scholar ;  but  when  the 
books  were  laid  aside,  and  the  fresh  air  played  on  his  bright  cheeks, 
he  was  king  of  all  sports,  the  foremost  and  the  maddest  in  every  joc- 
und enterprise.  A  pleasant  idea  of  the  relation  in  which  the  kind 
minister  of  the  IMearns  stood  to  his  pupils,  is  given  in  a  note  I'rom 
Sir  John  Maxwell  of  PoUok,  who  was  a  schoolfellow  of  my  father : 

"  He  was  above  me  in  the  ranks  of  the  school,  in  stature,  and 
mental  acquirements.  I  may  mention,  as  an  illustration  of  the 
energy,  activity,  :ui(l  vivacity  of  his  character,  that  one  m-orning,  I 


BOYHOOD.  7 

having  been  permitted  to  go  and  fisli  in  the  burn  near  the  kirk,  and 
liaving  caught  a  fine  trout,  was  so  pleased,  that  I  repaired  to  the 
minister's  study  to  exhibit  my  prize  to  Dr.  M'Latchie,  who  was 
then  reading  Greek  witli  him.  He,  seeing  my  trout,  started  up ; 
and,  ad<b"essing  his  reverend  teaclier,  said,  'I  must  go  now  to  fish,' 
Leave  was  granted,  and  I  willingly  resigned  to  him  my  rod  and 
line ;  and  before  dinner  he  re-ai)i)eared  with  a  large  dish  of  fish, 
on  which  he  and  his  companions  feasted,  not  without  that  admira- 
tion of  his  achievement  which  youtli  delights  to  express  and  always 
feels." 

This  simple  relation,  to  those  who  knew  the  man  in  after  life, 
and  have  heard  him  speak  of  the  happy  hours  which  gave,  in  his 
eyes,  so  great  a  charm  to  "  Our  Parish,"  suggests  one  of  those 
bright  days  he  loveil  to  wander  to  in  memory,  long  after  the  sunny 
visions  of  youth  had  glided  into  the  silent  past.  "  Such  days,"  says 
he,  "seem  now  to  us — as  memory  and  imagination  half  restore  and 
half  create  the  past  into  such  weather  as  may  have  shone  over  the 
bridal  morn  of  our  first  parents  in  Paradise — to  have  been  frequent 
— nay,  to  have  lasted  all  the  summer  long — when  our  boyhood  was 
bright  from  the  hands  of  God.  Each  of  those  days  Avas  in  itself  a 
life  !"* 

It  is  impossible  to  overrate  the  influence  of  such  a  training  as 
young  Wilson  had,  during  these  happy  years,  in  forming  that  sin- 
gular character,  in  virtue  of  which  he  stands  out  as  unique  and 
inimitable  among  British  men  of  genius,  as  Jean  Paul,  DerElnzige^ 
among  his  countrymen.  In  no  other  writings  do  we  find  so  inex- 
haustible and  vivid  a  reminiscence  of  the  feelings  of  boyhood. 
There  was  in  that  heart  of  his  a  perpetual  well-spring  of  youthful 
emotion.  In  contact  with  him,  we  are  made  to  feel  as  if  this  man 
were  in  himself  the  type,  never  to  grow  old,  of  all  the  glorious* 
bright-eyed  youths  that  we  have  known  in  the  world ;  capable  of 
entering,  with  perfect  luxury  of  abandonment,  into  their  wildest 
frolics,  but  also  of  transfiguring  their  pastimes  into  mirrors  of 
tilings  more  sublime — of  rising,  without  strain  or  artifice,  from  the 
level  of  common  and  material  objects  into  the  serene  heights  of 
poetic,  philosophic,  and  religions  contemplation.  Not  in  vain  was 
this  brilliant  youth,  Avith  his  capacity  for  every  form  of  activity, 
bodily  and  mental,  his  passionate  love  of  nature,  and  his  deep  rev- 

*  "  Soliloquy  on  the  Soasous,"    Wilson's    Works. 


8  MEMOIR    OF    JOHN    WILSON". 

erence  for  all  things  liigli  and  pure,  placed  in  the  springtime  of  his 
days  amid  the  manifold  wholesome  influences  of  a  Scottish  manse 
and  school  in  the  "  wild,  moorland,  sylvan,  pastoral  parish"  of 
Mearns.  For  truly  has  he  himself  remarked  of  the  importance  of 
this  period  of  life,  "  Some  men,  it  is  sarcastically  said,  are  boys  all 
life  long,  and  carry  with  them  their  pueriUty  to  the  grave.  'Twould 
be  well  for  the  world  were  there  in  it  more  such  men.  By  way  of 
proving  their  manhood,  we  have  heard  grown-up  people  abuse 
their  own  boyhood,  forgetting  what  our  great  philosophical  poet — 
after  Milton  and  Dryden — has  told  them,  that 

'  The  bov  is  father  of  the  man,' 

and  thus  libelling  the  author  of  their  existence.  .  .  .  Xot  only  are 
the  foundations  dug  and  laid  in  boyhood,  of  all  the  knowledge  and 
the  feelings  of  our  prime,  but  the  ground-flat  too  built,  and  often 
the  entire  second  story  of  the  superstructure,  from  the  windows  of 
which,  the  soul,  looking  out,  beholds  nature  in  her  state,  and  leaps 
down,  unafraid  of  a  fall  on  the  green  or  white  bosom  of  earth,  to 
join  with  hymns  the  front  of  the  pi'ocession.  The  soul  afterwards 
perfects  her  palace — building  up  tier  after  tier  of  all  imaginable 
orders  of  architecture — till  the  shadowy  roof,  gleaming  with  golden 
cupolas,  like  the  cloud-region  of  the  setting  sun,  set  the  heavens 
ablaze."* 

It  were  a  vain  task  to  attempt,  in  any  words  but  his  own,  to  re- 
call some  of  those  boyish  experiences,  which  made  that  life  in  the 
Mearns  so  rich  a  seed-field  of  bright  memories  and  imaginations.  I 
must,  therefore,  draw  upon  the  pages  of  the  Recreations  for  a  few 
pictures  of  "Young  Kit,"  as  he  appeared  to  himself  looked  at  through 
the  vista  of  half  a  life.  After  describing  how  his  youthful  passion 
for  the  observation  of  nature  impelled  him,  when  a  mere  child,  to 
wander  away  among  the  moors  and  woods,  he  goes  on : — 

"  Once  it  was  feared  that  poor  wee  Kit  was  lost ;  for  having  set 
ofi'all  by  himself,  at  sunrise,  to  draw  a  night-line  from  the  distant 
Black  Loch,  and  look  at  a  trap  set  for  a  glede,  a  mist  overtook  him 
on  the  moor  on  his  homeward  way,  with  an  eel  as  long  as  himself 
hanging  over  his  shoulder,  and  held  him  prisoner  for  many  hours 
within  its  shifting  walls,  frail  indeed,  and  opposing  no  resistance  to 
rhe  hand,  yet  impenetrable  to  the  feet  of  fear  as  the  stone  dungeon's 

•  Wils<in"s  Work*. 


BOYHOOD.  V 

thraldom.  If  the  mist  had  remained,  that  would  have  been  nothing ; 
only  a  still  cold  wet  seat  on  a  stone  ;  bnt  as  '  a  trot  becomes  a  gallop 
soon,  in  spite  of  curb  and  rein,'  so  a  Scotch  mist  becomes  a  shoAver 
— and  a  shower  a  flood — and  a  flood  a  storm — and  a  storm  a  tem- 
pest— and  a  tempest  thunder  and  lightning — and  thunder  and  light- 
ning heavenquake  and  earthquake — till  the  heart  of  poor  Avee  Kit 
quaked,  and  almost  died  Avithin  him  in  the  desert.  In  this  age  of 
Confessions,  need  Ave  be  ashamed  to  OAvn,  in  the  face  of  the  whole 
Avorid,  that  we  sat  us  down  and  cried !  The  small  broAvn  moorland 
bird,  as  dry  as  a  toast,  hopped  out  of  his  heather-hole,  and  cheerfully 
cheeped  comfort.  With  crest  just  a  thought  lowered  by  the  rain 
the  green-backed,  Avhite-breasted  peaseweep,  walked  close  by  us  in 
the  mist ;  and,  sight  of  Avonder,  that  made  even  in  that  quandary  by 
the  quagmire  our  heart  beat  with  joy — lo !  never  seen  before,  and 
seldom  since,  three  wee  poascwceps,  not  three  days  old,  little  bigger 
than  shrew-mice,  all  covered  with  blackish  doAvn,  interspersed  with 
long  Avhite  hair,  running  after  their  mother !  But  the  large  hazel  eye 
of  the  she  peaseweep,  restless  even  in  the  most  utter  solitude,  soon 
spied  us  glowering  at  her,  and  her  young  ones,  through  our  tears; 
and  not  for  a  moment  doubting  (Heaven  forgive  her  for  the  shrewd 
but  cruel  suspicion!)  that  Ave  were  Lord  Eglinton's  gamekeeper, 
Avith  a  sudden  shrill  cry  that  thrilled  to  the  marrow  in  our  cold 
backbone,  flapped  and  fluttered  herself  away  into  the  mist,  Avhile 
the  little  black  bits  of  doAvn  disappeared,  like  devils,  into  the  moss. 
The  croaking  of  the  frogs  grew  terrible.  And  Avorse  and  Avorse, 
close  at  hand,  seeking  his  lost  coavs  through  the  mist,  the  bellow  of 
the  notorious  red  bull!  We  began  saying  our  prayers;  and  just 
then  the  sun  forced  himself  out  into  the  open  day,  and,  like  the  sud- 
den opening  of  the  shutters  of  a  room,  the  Avhole  Avorld  Avas  filled 
with  light.  The  frogs  seemed  to  sink  among  the  powheads  ;  as  for 
the  red  bull  who  had  tossed  the  tinker,  he  Avas  cantering  away,  with 
his  tail  towards  us,  to  a  lot  of  cows  on  the  hill;  and  hark — a  long, 
a  loud,  an  oft-repeated  halloo!  Rab  Roger,  honest  fellow,  and 
Leezy  Muir,  honest  lass,  from  the  manse,  in  search  of  our  dead 
body !  Rab  pulls  our  ears  lightly,  and  Leezy  kisses  us  from  the 
one  to  the  other,  wrings  the  rain  out  of  our  long  yellow  hair  (a 
pretty  contrast  to  the  small  gray  sprig  now  on  the  crown  of  our 
pericraniuin,  and  the  thin  tail  ac^oek  behind);  and  by-and-by  step- 
ping into  Ilazel-Deanhead  for  a  drap  and  a  '  chitterin'  piece,'  by  the 
I* 


10  MEilOIK    OF   JOUN    WILSOM. 

time  we  reacli  the  manse  we  are  as  dry  as  a  whistle — take  our  scold 
and  our  pawmies  from  the  minister — and,  by  way  of  punishment 
and  penance,  after  a  Uttle  hot  whi^key-toddy,  with  brown  sugar  and 
a  bit  of  bun,  are  bundled  off  to  bed  in  the  daytime!'' 

Could  any  thing  be  more  deliciously  vivid  than  that  picture  of 
little  Kit  and  the  maternal  peaseweep  "glowering"  at  each  other 
in  the  midst  of  the  Scotch  mist  ? 

Let  us  see  him  now  a  few  years  older,  and  some  inches  taller, 
armed  with  that  remarkable  piece  of  artillery,  "  Muckle-mou'd 
Meg,"  of  which  he  has  himself  given  this  most  inimitable  descrip- 
tion, or  one  only  equalled  by  Hood's  glorious  schoolboy  epis- 
tles : — 

"  There  had  been  from  time  immemorial,  it  was  understood,  in 
the  Manse,  a  duck-gun  of  very  great  length,  and  a  musket  that, 
according  to  an  old  tradition,  had  been  out  both  in  the  Fifteen  and 
Forty-live.  There  were  ten  boys  of  us,  and  we  succeeded  by  rotation 
to  gun  or  musket,  each  boy  retaining  possession  for  a  single  day 
only;  but  then  the  shooting  senson  continued  all  the  year.  They 
must  have  been  of  admirable  materials  and  workinansliip ;  for 
neither  of  them  so  much  as  once  bur^^t  during  the  Seven  Years'  War. 
The  musket,  who,  we  have  often  since  thought,  must  surely  rather 
have  been  a  blunderbuss  in  disguise,  was  a  perfect  devil  for  kicking 
when  she  received  her  dischaige ;  so  much  so,  indeed,  that  it  was 
reckoned  creditable  for  the  smaller  boys  not  to  be  knocked  down 
by  the  recoil.  She  had  a  very  wide  mouth — and  was  thouglit  by 
us  'an  awfu'  scatterer;'  a  qualitication  which  we  considered  of  the 
very  highest  merit.  She  carried  any  thing  we  chose  to  put  into 
her — there  still  being  of  all  her  performances  a  loud  and  favorable 
report — balls,  buttons,  chuckystaues,  slugs,  or  hail.  She  had  but 
two  faults:  she  had  got  addicted,  probably  in  early  life,  to  one 
habit  of  burning  priming,  and  to  another  of  hanging  tire;  habits  of 
which  it  was  impossible,  for  us  at  least,  to  break  her  by  the  most . 
assiduous  hannnering  of  many  a  new  series  of  flints ;  but  such  was 
the  liigh  place  she  justly  occupied  in  the  aSection  and  admiration 
of  us  all,  that  faults  like  these  did  not  in  the  least  detract  from  her 
general  character.  Our  delight,  when  she  did  absolutely  and  posi- 
tively and  hondjide  'go  oif,'  was  in  proportion  to  the  comparative 
rarity  of  that  occurrence ;  and  as  to  hanging  fire — why,  we  used  to 
let  her  take  her  own  time,  contriving  to  keep  her  at  the  level  as  long 


BOYHOOD. 


11 


as  our  strength  sufficed,  eyes  shut  perhaps,  teeth  clenched,  face 
uirning,  and  head  slightly  averted  over  the  right  shoulder,  till 
Miicklc-mou'd  Meg,  who,  like  most  other  Scottish  females,  took 
things  leisurely,  weut  ofl'at  last  with  an  explosion  like  the  blowing 
up  of  a  rock.'' 

If  we  would  see  him,  at  a  further  stage  of  boyhood,  engaged  in 
still  more  exciting  and  boisterous  sport,  we  would  need  to  go  back 
into  the  melee  of  the  "Snowball  Bicker  of  Pedmount,"*  a  quiet 
Homeric  episode,  to  which  it  is  impossible  to  do  justice  by  an  ex- 
tract. Those  who  care,  in  short,  to  obtain  as  complete  a  picture  of 
that  boyish  life  as  it  is  possible  now  to  have,  will  find  it  for  them- 
selves, in  the  pages  of  the  Recreations^  few  of  Avhich  are  without 
some  tender  and  graphic  reminiscences  of  his  early  days.  They 
are  not,  of  course,  to  be  always  taken  as  literal  descriptions  of 
things  that  happened  exactly  as  there  painted ;  for,  as  he  himself 
acutely  observes,  giving  the  rationale  of  such  reminiscence : — "  You 
must  know  that,  unless  it  be  accompanied  with  imagination,  memory 
is  cold  and  lifeless.  .  .  .  All  minds,  even  the  dullest,  remember  the 
days  of  their  youth ;  but  all  cannot  bring  back  the  indescribable 
brightness  of  that  blessed  season.  They  who  would  know  what 
they  once  were,  must  not  merely  recollect,  but  they  must  imagine 
the  hills  and  valleys,  if  any  such  there  were,  in  which  their  child- 
hood played.  ...  To  imagine  what  he  then  heard  and  saw,  he  must 
imagine  his  own  nature.  He  must  collect  from  many  vanished 
hours  the  power  of  his  untamed  heart,  and  he  must,  perhaps,  trans- 
fuse also  something  of  his  own  maturer  mind  into  these  dreams  of 
his  former  being,  thus  linking  the  i)ast  with  the  present  by  a  con- 
tinuous chain,  which,  though  often  invisible,  is  never  broken."  That 
my  father,  in  these  pictures  of  his  youth,  did  transfuse  something 
of  his  maturer  mind  into  the  vision  is  manifest  enough,  and  therein 
lies  their  peculiar  charm  and  beauty.  But  of  the  general  fidelity  of 
the  impression  they  convey  there  can  be  no  doubt.  As  regards  in 
particular  that  surpassing  excellence  in  all  physical  sports  which 
might  sometimes  appear  to  be  the  exaggeration  of  poetic  fancy, 
there  is  sufficient  testimony  from  contemporaries.  Thus  a  school- 
fellow of  his  writes :  "  There  were  other  boys  five  or  six  years  his 
seiiior;  but  in  all  games,  in  running,  in  jumping,  in  hockey,  he  Avas 
tlie  first  and  fastest;  and  he  could  run  faster,  .and  walk  longer  than 

*  Wilsons'  W'lyrkH. 


12  MEMOIR    OF    JOnS    WILSON. 

any  of  us."  Anotlier  says  :  "  lie  excited  our  admiration  by  his  ex- 
cellence in  fishing;"  Avhile,  in  regard  to  "mental  superiority,"  he 
adds,  "he  was  a  capital  scholar,  and  further  in  advance  of  the 
generality  of  the  boys  at  Mearns  than  he  outshone  his  competitors 
in  after  life." 

That,  with  all  this  many-sided  ability,  and  the  undoubted  con- 
sciousness of  superior  power,  he  was  a  prime  favorite  among  his 
fellows,  is  not  difficult  to  believe,  when  we  find  how  aflectionate 
and  magnanimous  was  his  nature  ;  a  nature  in  which  the  develop- 
ment of  soul  and  body,  of  intellect  and  feeling,  attained  a  harmony 
so  rare.  The  combination  of  these  gifts  in  such  goodly  jtroportion 
enabled  him  to  enter,  with  a  sympathy  destitute  of  all  affectation, 
into  the  feelings  and  pursuits  of  persons  of  the  most  diverse  char- 
acter ;  and  throughout  all  the  exuberance  of  his  literary  activity, 
much  as  there  is  in  its  earlier  stages  of  impetuosity,  and  sometimes 
even  sansculottism,  there  is  nowhere,  from  beginning  to  end,  one 
trace  of  malignity  or  envy.  Even  such  was  he  in  those  happy  boy- 
ish days,  when  he  "bathed  his  feet  in  beauty''  by  the  banks  of  the 
ream,  and  nourished  "a  youth  sublime"  in  the  ])ure  and  healthful 
atmosphere  of  the  dear  old  Manse. 

I  pass  with  reluctance  from  this  happy  period,  to  which  my 
fiither's  heart  ever  turned  with  a  freshness  of  delight  which  years 
and  sorrows  seemed  only  to  increase.  The  chapter  may  filly  close 
with  his  own  account  of  the  feelings  with  which  he  bade  farewell 
to  that  beloved  parish,  never  mentioned  without  benediction  and 
eulogium. 

"Then  this  was  to  be  our  last  year  in  the  parish — now  dear  to  us 
as  our  birthplace;  nay,  itself  our  very  birthplace — for  in  it  from  the 
darkness  of  infancy  had  our  soul  been  born.  Once  gone  and  away 
from  the  region  of  cloud  and  moimtain,  we  felt  that  most  probal»Iy 
never  more  should  we  return.  For  others,  who  thought  they  knew 
us  better  than  we  did  ourselves,  had  chalked  out  a  future  life  for 
young  Christopher  North — a  life  that  was  sure  to  lead  to  honor, 
and  riches,  and  a  splendid  name.  Therefore  we  determined,  with  a 
strong,  resolute,  insatiate  spirit  of  })assion,  to  make  the  most — the 
best — of  the  few  months  that  remained  to  us  of  that,  our  wild,  free, 
and  romantic  existence,  as  yet  untrammelled  by  those  inexorable 
laws,  which,  once  launched  into  the  world,  all  alike — young  and 
old — must  oiiev.     Our  books  were  fluncr  aside — nor  did  our  old 


BOYHOOD.  ^  13 

master  and  iniuister  frown,  for  he  grudged  not  to  the  boy  he  loved 
the  remnant  of  the  dream  about  to  be  rolled  away  like  the  dawn's 
rosy  clouds.  We  demanded  witli  our  eye — not  with  our  voice — 
one  long  holiday  throughout  that  our  last  autumn,  on  to  the  pale 
farewell  blossoms  of  the  Christmas  rose.  With  our  rod  we  went 
earlier  to  the  loch  or  river ;  but  we  had  not  known  thoroughly  our 
own  soul — for  now  we  angled  less  passionately,  less  perseveringly, 
than  was  our  wont  of  yore,  sitting  in  a  pensive,  a  melancholy,  a 
miserable  dream,  by  the  dashing  waterfall  or  the  murmuring  wave. 
With  our  gun  we  plunged  earlier  in  the  morning  into  the  forest, 
and  we  returned  later  at  eve ;  but  less  earnest,  less  eager,  were  we 
to  hear  the  cushat's  moan  from  his  yew-tree — to  see  the  hawk's 
shadow  on  the  glade,  as  he  hung  aloft  on  the  sky.  A  thousand 
dead  thoughts  came  to  life  again  in  the  gloom  of  the  woods,  and 
we  sometimes  did  wring  our  hands  in  an  agony  of  grief,  to  know 
that  our  eyes  should  not  behold  the  birch-tree  brightening  there 
with  another  spring. 

"  Then  every  visit  we  paid  to  cottage  or  to  shieling  was  felt  to 
be  a  farewell ;  there  was  something  mournful  in  the  smiles  on  the 
sweet  faces  of  the  ruddy  rustics,  with  their  silken  snoods,  to  whom 
we  used  to  whisper  harmless  love-meanings,  in  which  there  was  no 
guile.  We  regarded  the  solemn  toil-and-care-worn  countenances 
of  the  old  with  a  profounder  emotion  than  had  ever  touched  our 
hearts  in  the  hour  of  our  more  thoughtless  joy ;  and  the  whole  life 
of  those  dwellers  among  the  woods,  and  the  moors,  and  the  moun- 
tains, seemed  to  us  far  more  afi'ecting  now  that  we  saw  deeper  into 
it,  in  the  light  of  a  melancholy  sprung  from  the  conviction  that  the 
time  was  close  at  hand  when  we  should  mingle  Avith  it  no  more. 
The  thoughts  that  possessed  our  most  secret  bosom  fuled  not  by 
the  least  observant  to  be  discovered  in  our  open  eyes.  They  who 
had  liked  us  before,  now  loved  us  ;  our  fiiults,  our  follies,  the  inso- 
lences of  our  reckless  boyhood,  were  all  forgotten ;  whatever  had 
been  our  sins,  pride  towards  the  poor  was  never  among  the  num 
ber;  we  had  shunned  not  stooping  our  head  beneath  the  humblesr 
lintel;  our  mite  had  been  given  to  the  widow  who  had  lost  her 
own  ;  quarrelsome  with  the  young  we  might  sometimes  have  been, 
for  boyhood  is  soon  heated,  and  boils  before  a  defying  eye  ;  b\it  in 
one  thing  at  least  we  were  Spartans — we  revered  the  head  of  old 
a"u. 


14  V  MEMOIR   OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

"And  many  at  last  were  tlie  kind — some  the  sad — farewells,  eve 
long  whispered  by  iis  at  gloaming  among  the  glens.  Let  them 
rest  for  ever  silent  amidst  that  music  in  the  memory  which  is  felt, 
not  heard — its  blessing  mute  though  breathing,  like  an  inarticulate 
prayer !" 


CHAPTER    II. 

GLASGOAV     COLLEGE. 

1797-1803. 

"  Long,  long,  long  ago,  the  time  when  we  danced  hand  in  hand 
with  our  golden-haired  sister !  Long,  long,  long  ago,  the  day  on 
which  she  died ;  the  hour,  so  far  more  dismal  than  any  hour  that 
can  now  darken  us  on  this  earth,  when  her  coffin  descended  slowly, 
slowly  into  the  horrid  clay,  and  we  were  borne,  deathlike  and  wish- 
ing to  die,  out  of  the  churchyard,  that  from  that  moment  we 
thought  we  could  never  enter  more.''  That  touching  reminiscence 
of  his  golden-haired  sister,  which  came  back  among  the  visions  of 
a  merry  Christmas  long  after,*  points  to  what  was  probably  John 
Wilson's  first  deep  experience  of  sorrow ;  and  it  is  no  imaginary 
picture  of  the  scene  it  recalled.  For  even  in  those  early  years,  and 
still  more  as  life  advanced,  he  was  intensely  susceptible  to  emotions 
of  grief,  as  well  as  of  gladness.  A  heavier  trial  awaited  him  at  the 
threshold  of  the  new  life  on  which  he  was  to  enter  after  leaving 
the  manse  of  Mearns  in  his  twelfth  year.  He  had  seen  the  yellow 
leaves  fall,  on  to  the  close  of  that  last  memorable  autumn  which 
finished  his  happy  school-time,  and  now  he  was  summoned  home  to 
see  his  father  die.  As  he  stood  at  the  head  of  the  grave,  chief 
mourner,  and  heard  the  dull  earth  rattling  over  the  coffin,  his 
emotions  so  overcame  him  that  he  iell  to  the  ground  in  a  swoon, 
and  had  to  be  carried  away.  Such  an  effi^ct,  on  a  frame  more  than 
commonly  robust,  indicated  a  dejith  of  feeling  and  passion  not 
often  seen  in  oui  clime  among  boys,  or,  in  its  outer  manifestations 

* '•Cliii.-tiii:i»  Dixuiiib,"'    Wilfion's    Worlfi. 


GLASGOW    COLLEGE  15 

at  least,  among  men.  The  aspect  and  the  charactei'  of  Wilson  have 
sometimes  suggested  to  the  imagination  those  blue-eyed  and  long- 
liaired  Norsemen,  who  made  their  songs  amid  the  smiting  of 
^ words,  who  were  as  swift  of  foot  and  strong  of  arm  as  they  were 
skilled  iu  lore  and  ready  in  counsel,  fierce  to  their  enemies,  tender 
and  true  to  their  friends.  And  this  little  incident  reminds  one 
uioi'e  of  what  we  read  in  Sagas  of  that  passionate  vehemence  of 
theirs,  than  any  thing  we  are  accustomed  to  now-a-days. 

After  the  death  of  his  father,  he  appears  to  have  gone  immedi- 
ately to  Glasgow  University,  where  he  entered  as  a  student  in  the 
Latin  class  for  the  session  of  l79V-'98,  attending  other  classes  in 
due  course  down  to  1803,  During  those  years  he  resided  iu  the 
family  of  Professor  Jardine,  the  same  prudence  which  had  dictated 
(lie  choice  of  his  earlier  instructors  being  here  again  conspicuous, 
and  the  results  not  less  satisfactory.  His  life  in  Glasgow  was  a 
ha]j]»y  one;  and,  under  the  combined  influences  of  admirable  pro- 
ft^ssorial  instruction  and  a  free  enjoyment  of  good  society  and 
innocent  pleasures,  his  character  developed  by  natural  and  insensi- 
ble transition  from  boyhood  to  youth,  from  the  period  of  school 
lessons  and  "  Muckle-mou'd  Meg"  to  that  of  essay-writing  and 
speech-making,  of  first  love  and  "lines  to  Margaret." 

Of  the  various  professors  under  whom  he  studied,  there  were  two 
who  won  his  special  love  and  lifelong  veneration :  these  were  Jar- 
dine  and  Young.*  When  the  relationship  between  pupil  and  teacher 
has  been  cemented  by  feelings  of  respect  and  affection,  the  influence 
obtained  over  the  young  mind  is  one  that  does  not  die  with  the 
breaking  of  the  ties  that  formally  bound  them.  Of  this  Wilson's 
own  experience  as  a  professor  afforded  him  many  a  delighti'ul  illus- 
tration. To  Jardine,  in  the  first  place,  as  not  only  his  teacher,  but 
his  private  monitor  and  friend,  he  owed,  he  has  himself  said,  a  deep 
debt  of  gratitude.  He  is  represented  as  having  been  "  a  person 
who,  by  the  singular  felicity  of  his  tact  in  watching  youthful  minds, 
had  done  more  good  to  a  whole  host  of  individuals,  and  gifted  in- 
dividuals too,  than  their  utmost  gratitude  could  ever  adequately 
repay.  They  spoke  of  him  as  of  a  kind  of  intellectual  father,  to 
whom  they  were  proud  of  acknowledging  the  eternal  obligations  of 
their  intellectual  being.  He  has  created  for  himself  a  mighty  family 
among  whom  his  memory  will  long  survive;  by  whom,  all  that  he 

*  The  former  was  Trolessor  of  Logic,  the  lultur  of  Greek. 


16  MKMOIK    OF    .lOllN    WILSON. 

Baid  and  did — his  words  of  kind  praise  and  kind  censure — his  grav- 
ity and  his  graciousness — will  no  doubt  be  dwelt  u])on  with  warm 
and  tender  words  and  looks,  long  after  his  earthly  labors  shall  have 
been  bi  ought  to  a  close."* 

Wilson's  intercourse  with  Professor  Young  was  of  a  nature  equally 
friendly,  and  his  reminiscences  of  that  "  old  man  eloquent"  are  not 
less  pleasing : — 

"  Vv'e  have  sat,"  he  says,  "  at  the  knees  of  Professor  Young, 
looking  up  to  his  kindling  or  shaded  countenance,  while  that  old 
man  eloquent  gave  life  to  every  line,  till  Hector  and  Andromache 
seemed  to  our  imagination  standing  side  by  side  beneath  a  radiant 
rainbow  glorious  on  a  showery  heaven  ;  such,  during  his  inspiration, 
was  the  creative  power  of  the  majesty  and  the  beauty  of  their  smiles 
and  tears. 

"That  was  long,  long  ago,  in  the  Greek  class  of  the  College  oi 
Glasgow ;  and  though  that  bright  scholar's  Greek  was  Scotch  Greek, 
and  all  its  vowels  and  diphthongs,  and  some  of  its  consonants  too, 
especially  that  glorious  guttural  that  sounds  in  lochs,  all  unlike  the 
English  Greek  that  soon  afterwards,  beneath  the  shadow  of  Mag- 
dalen Tower,  the  fairest  of  all  Oxford's  stately  structures,  was  poured 
mellifluous  on  our  delighted  ear  from  the  lips  of  President  Routh, 
the  '  erudite  and  the  wise,'  still  hath  the  music  of  that  'repeated 
strain'  a  charm  to  our  souls,  reminding  us  of  life's  morning  march 
Avhen  our  spirits  were  young,  and  when  we  could  see,  even  as  with 
our  bodily  eyes,  things  far  away  in  space  or  time,  and  Troy  hung 
visibly  before  us  even  as  the  sun-setting  clouds.  Therefore,  till 
death,  shall  we  love  the  Sixth  Book  of  the  Iliad ;  and,  if  we  under- 
stand it  not,  then  indeed  has  our  whole  life  been  vainer  than  the 
shadow  of  a  dream."f 

A  somewhat  similar  account  of  this  interesting  man,  from  another 
source,  is  worthy  of  insertion  here : — 

"I  own  I  was  quite  thunderstruck  to  find  him  passing  from  a 
ti-ansport  of  sheer  verbal  ecstasy  about  the  particle  dga,  into  an 
ecstasy  quite  as  vehement,  and  a  thousand  times  more  noble,  about 
the  deep  patlietic  beauty  of  one  of  Homer's  conceptions  in  the  ex- 
pression of  which  that  particle  happens  to  occur.  Such  was  the 
burst  of  his  enthusiasm,  and  the  enriched  mellow  swell  of  his  ex- 

♦  muck-wooil,, 1u]y,  TilNi. 

i  '"llomiT  Hill  liib  'I'taiisla'i.rs,"    Wil-<iii"»    IV'irln. 


GLASGOAV    COLLEGE. 


17 


panding  voice,  when  he  began  to  touch  upon  this  more  majestic 
key,  that  I  dropped  for  a  moment  all  my  notions  of  the  sharp  phi- 
lologer,  and  gazed  on  him  with  a  higher  delight,  as  a  genuine  lover 
of  the  soul  and  spirit  which  has  been  clothed  in  the  words  of  an- 
tiquity. 

"  At  the  close  of  one  of  his  fine  excursions  into  this  brighter  field, 
the  feelings  of  the  man  seemed  to  be  rapt  up  to  a  pitch  I  never  be- 
fore beheld  exemplified  in  any  orator  of  the  Chair.  The  tears 
gushed  from  his  eyes  amidst  their  fervid  sparklings,  and  I  was  more 
than  delighted  when  I  looked  round  and  found  that  the  fire  of  the 
Professor  had  kindled  answering  tianies  in  the  eyes  of  not  a  few  of 
his  disciples."* 

It  may  be  seen  from  these  sketches  what  manner  of  men  had  the 
moulding  of  that  young  taste  in  its  perception  of  the  good  and 
beautiful.  Nor  could  his  mind  fail  to  have  been  ennobled  by  such 
training.  It  was  the  means  of  encouraging  him  to  cultivate  the  lit- 
erary taste,  which,  in  addition  to  the  more  severe  routine  of  his 
studies,  aided  to  make  his  memory  a  storehouse  of  knowledge, 
rendering  him  even  as  a  boy  one  of  the  most  desirable  comjianions 
with  his  seniors. 

Of  the  characteristic  mixture  of  work  and  play  which  enabled  him 
to  be  both  an  active  and  distinguished  student,  and  a  vivacious  racer 
and  dancer,  there  is  fortunately  some  slight  record  extant  under  his 
own  youthful  hand,  in  the  pnges  of  a  little  brown  memorandum- 
book,  in  which  he  carefully  noted  the  chief  transactions  of  each  day 
from  the  1st  of  January  to  the  26th  of  October,  1801.  A  very  in- 
teresting and  curious  relic  it  is,  if  only  for  the  light  it  throws  on 
that  beautiful  portrait  by  Raeburn,  now  in  the  National  Gallery, 
Edinburgh,  which  has  probably  disappointed  so  many  people  as  a 
representation  of  young  Christo])her  North.  That  slender  youth, 
so  tidily  dressed  in  his  top-boots  and  well-fitting  coat,  with  face  so 
placid,  and  blue  eye  so  mild,  looking  as  if  lie  never  could  do  or  say 
anything  outre  or  startling, — can  that  be  a  good  picture  of  him  wc 
have  seen  and  heard  of  as  the  long-maned  and  mighty,  whose  eyca 
were  "as  the  wgiitnings  of  fiery  flame,"  and  his  voice  like  an  organ 
bnss ;  who  laid  about  him,  when  the  fit  was  on,  like  a  Titan,  break- 
ing small  men's  bones;  who  was  loose  and  careless  in  his  apparel, 
even  as  in  all  things  he  seemed  too  strong  and  primilive  to  heed 

*  I'tier\i  Lettern. 


k 


18  MEMOIR    OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

miicli  tlie  niceties  of  custom?  So  people  ask  and  think  wlio  knew 
not  Professor  Wilson,  save  out  of  doors  or  in  print,  and  who  ima- 
gine that  he  could  never  have  been  otherwise  than  as  they  saw  him 
in  manhood  or  age.  But  true  it  is,  that  that  gentle-looking  cavalier 
represents  the  John  Wilson  in  whom  the  deep  fires  of  passion  and 
the  hidden  riches  of  imagination  lay  still  comparatively  quiescent 
and  undeveloped.  For  that  youth,  though  he  is  a  bold  horseman 
and  a  matchless  leaper,  as  well  as  a  capital  scholar  and  a  versifier  to 
boot,  has  not  yet  had  his  nature  stirred  by  that  which  will  presently 
make  him  talk  of  life  as  either  bliss  ineffable,  or  wretchedness  insuf- 
ferable. The  man  whom  we  know  in  after  life  jotting  down  his 
lectures  on  old  backs  of  letters,  illegible  sometimes  to  himself,  at 
this  time  keeps  a  neat  and  punctual  diary,  with  its  ink  rulings  for 
month,  and  week,  and  day,  and  £  s  d,  all  done  by  his  own  hand; 
the  one  page  containing,  under  the  heading  "  Appointments,  Bills, 
Memorandums,"  notes  of  each  day's  events,  Avith  the  state  of  the 
weather  at  the  week's  end  ;  the  other,  its  careful  double  entry  of 
"  Received"  and  "  Paid,"  duly  carried  over  from  page  to  page  ;  and 
the  expenditure  in  no  single  instance  exceeding  the  income.  It  is 
altogether  an  illustration  of  chai-acter  that  might  surprise  the  unin- 
itiated even  more  than  Raeburn's  jiortrait. 

As  has  been  said,  labor  and  pleasure  seem  not  unequally  to  have 
divided  his  time.  Invitations  to  dinner,  balls,  parties,  etc.,  are  fre- 
quently chronicled.  A  boy  of  sixteen  might  be  supposed  to  be 
somewhat  prematurely  introduced  to  those  social  amenities.  But 
in  his  case  the  thing  does  not  seem  to  have  been  unnatural,  or 
other  than  beneficial.  No  doubt  his  personal  attractions,  and  a 
Btature  above  his  years,  combined  with  the  knowledge  of  his  good 
prospects  in  life,  made  him  an  object  of  more  attention  than  wo-ild 
otherwise  have  been  the  case.  In  the  heart  of  this  gayety,  too, 
there  are  indications  of  marked  attention  to  the  ordinary  but  too 
often  neglected  minor  duties  of  society.  lie  makes  frequent  visits 
of  politeness ;  he  writes  regularly  to  his  mother  and  sisters;  his 
respect  to  his  grandmother  and  other  relatives  is  undeviating,  for 
upon  the  old  lady  he  waits  daily.  Order  and  punctuality,  in  faci, 
seem  to  regulate  his  minutest  aftairs, — the  more  worthy  of  remark, 
as  in  later  years  these  praiseworthy  habits  were  almost  entirely  laid 
aside.  It  will  perhaps  not  be  altogether  without  interest  to  insert 
one  or  two  of  the  entries  from  this  pocket-book,  even  though  mo- 


GLASGOW    COLLEGE.  19 

notonous,  and  to  a  certain  extent  unimportant,  alluding  to  n&^mes 
of  persons,  the  mention  of  wliich,  save  to  a  very  few,  will  scarcely 
awaken  any  familiar  associations. 

The  season  is  begun  at  home  in  Edinburgh,  where  his  mother, 
with  the  rest  of  the  family,  had  now  taken  up  her  residence.  A 
happy  band  of  brothers  and  sisters,  and  other  relatives,  there  met 
together  to  welcome  in  the  new-year.  So,  for  a  while,  the  dingy 
walls  of  Glasgow  College,  and  its  eight  o'clock  morning  lectures, 
Avere  shut  out  from  thought,  and  the  bright-hearted  boy  rejoiced 
with  his  friends.  Before  quoting  from  the  memorandum-book  its 
brief  record  of  those  days,  which  gleams  out  from  the  past  like 
light  seen  from  an  aperture  for  the  first  time,  let  us  hear  him  in  ma- 
turer  years  recalling  the  memory  of  such  scenes : — 

"  Merry  Christmases  they  were  indeed ;  one  lady  always  pre- 
siding, with  a  figure  that  once  had  been  the  stateliest  among  the 
stately,  but  then  somewhat  bent,  without  being  bowed  down,  be- 
neath an  easy  weight  of  most  venerable  years.  Sweet  was  her 
tremulous  voice  to  all  her  grandchildren's  ears.  Nor  did  those 
solemn  eyes,  bedimmed  into  a  pathetic  beauty,  in  any  degree  re- 
strain the  glee  that  sparkled  in  orbs  that  had  as  yet  shed  not  many 
tears,  but  tears  of  joy  or  pity. 

"Whether  we  were  indeed  all  so  witty  as  we  thought  ourselves 
— uncles,  aunts,  brothers,  sisters,  nephews,  nieces,  cousins,  and  '  the 
rest,'  it  might  be  presumptuous  in  us,  who  were  considered  by  our- 
selves and  a  few  others  not  the  least  amusing  of  the  whole  set,  at 
this  distance  of  time  to  decide — especially  in  the  affirmative ;  but 
how  the  roof  did  ring  with  sally,  pun,  retort,  and  repartee !  Ay, 
with  pun — a  species  of  impertinence  for  which  we  have  therefore  a 
kindness  even  to  this  day.  Had  incomparable  Thomas  Hood  had 
the  good  fortune  to  have  been  born  a  cousin  of  ours,  how  with  that 
fine  fancy  of  his  would  he  have  shone  at  those  Christmas  festivals, 
eclipsing  us  all !  Our  family,  through  all  its  diflerent  branches,  has 
ever  been  famous  for  bad  voices,  but  good  ears ;  and  we  think  we 
liear  ourselves — all  those  uncles  and  aunts,  nephews  and  nieces,  and 
cousins — singing  now  !  Easy  is  it  to  '  warble  melody'  as  to  breathe 
air.  But  we  hope  harmony  is  the  most  difficult  of  all  things  to 
people  in  general,  for  to  us  it  was  impossible ;  and  what  attempts 
wn-s  used  to  be  at  seconds!  Yet  the  most  Avoful  failures  were 
rai)turously  encored;  and  ere  the  night  was  done  we  spoke  with 


20  MEMOIR    OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

most  extraordinary  voices  indeed,  every  one  hoarser  than  another, 
till  at  last,  walking  home  with  a  fair  cousin,  there  was  nothing  left 
for  it  but  a  tender  glance  of  t'  e  eye — a  tender  pressure  of  the  hand 
— for  cousins  are  not  altogether  sisters,  and  although  partaking  of 
that  dearest  character,  possess,  it  may  be,  some  pecuhar  and  appro- 
priate charms  of  their  own  ;  as  didst  thou,  Emily  the  '  Wild-cap!'" 

"  1st  of  Januanj^  1801. — Union  with  Ireland  celebrated;  Castle 
guns  fired ;  no  illumination.  Called  on  Mr.  Sym  (Timothy  Tickler 
of  later  date). 

"  2c?  of  January. — Ball  at  our  house ;  danced  with  the  Misses 
M'Donald,  Corbett,  Fairfox,  Chartres,  Balfour,  Brown,  Lundie, 
Millar,  Young." 

Not  too  long  is  he  to  be  absent  from  work.  On  the  4th  of  Janu- 
ary the  gayeties  of  home  are  left,  and  he  takes  a  seat  in  the  "  Tele- 
graph." 

"Left  Edinburgh  at  seven  in  the  morning;  arrived  in  Glasgow 
safe.,  and  dined  with  my  grandmother." 

Items  of  travelling  exoenses  make  a  curious  comparison  between 
the  past  and  present  cost  for  a  similar  journey : — 

"For  a  seat  in  the  'Telegraph,'  £1  Is. 

"  For  the  driver  and  guard  of '  Telegraph,'  4s. 

"For  breakfast  and  waiter.  Is.  6d." 

With  his  grandmother  he  was  a  great  favorite.  This  lady,  Mrs. 
Sym,  lived  to  a  good  old  age,  as  did  also  her  husband;  he  being 
above  ninety  when  he  died.  The  old  gentleman  had  considerable 
character,  and  not  a  little  caustic  humor;  a  quality  that  may  be  said 
to  have  })ervaded  the  Sym  family.  A  story  is  told  of  his  having 
sent  a  note  to  his  wine-merchant  on  receipt  of  a  jar  of  rum,  which  he 
fancied  had  had  more  than  the  ordinary  dilution,  begging  him  to  be 
so  obliging,  on  his  next  order,  as  to  send  the  water  in  one  jar  and 
tlio  rum  in  another.  His  wife  was  a  gentle,  kind  woman,  and  very 
attractive  to  young  people,  to  whom  she  was  ever  ready  to  show 
attention  and  hospitality.  She  was  very  handsome  in  her  youth, 
"stateliest  among  the  stately,"  as  Wilson  has  called  her.  In  one  of 
her  daughter's  letters,  written  five-and-thirty  years  later,  there  is  a 
reminiscence  of  these  early  days: — 

"  Occasionally  you  and  some  other  boys  getting  a  Saturday's  din- 
ner, a  <^oo([  four-hours,  and  being  dismissed  with — 'Now,  you  will 
go  all  away;  you  have  gotten  all  your  dues ;  and,  besides,  Pm  weary 


GLASGOW    COLLEGE 


21 


of  you^  Then,  as  you  advanced  in  your  academic  career,  came 
Jamie  Smith,  Wee  Willy  Cumin',  Alic-k  Blair,  sounding  out,  '  Ohon 
a  ree  !  ohon  a  ree  /'  Your  grandmother  ready  dressed  at  lier  wheel 
in  the  parlor,  your  aunts  at  their  work,  Blair  announced  in  the  <lin- 
ing-room,  and  me  the  only  one  who  would  join  him.  On  entering, 
I  find  him  groping  in  the  press  and  hoioking  out  a  book,  part  of 
which  was  read  with  his  peculiar  hxirry* 

Many  a  charmed  spot  is  mentioned  in  this  diary.  The  name  of 
Hallside,  Professor  Jardine's  residence,  is  specially  associated  with 
reminiscences  of  pleasant  society  and  light-hearted  diversions,  which 
show  how  well  philosophy  and  geniality  agreed  together  under  that 
hospitable  roof.     The  following  is  a  specimen : — 

'■^  23d  March. — Ran  for  a  wager  three  times  round  the  garden; 
accomplished  it  in  nine  minutes  and  a  quarter.     Won  5s." 

Hallside  is  a  modern  house,  somewhat  in  the  style  of  a  Scottish 
manse.  The  grounds  were  about  seventy  acres  in  extent,  gradually 
sloping  to  the  east,  and  bounded  in  part  by  the  river  Calder.  On 
the  opposite  banks  stood  the  pretty  cottage  or/iee  of  Mrs.  Jardine's 
brother,  Mr.  Lyndsay,  whose  wife  was  the  niece  of  the  celebrated 
Dr.  Reid,  the  metaphysician.  Their  only  child  was  a  beautiful 
girl,  whom  Professor  Wilson  took  in  after  years  as  model  for  the 
heroine  of  his  IVials  of  Margaret  Lyndsay.  The  charms  of  this 
agreeable  neighborhood  were  heightened  by  the  beauty  of  the  situa- 
tion. Calder  Bank,  Mr,  Lyndsay's  residence,  commanded  a  line 
view  of  Bothwell  woods  and  castle,  the  gray  towers  of  which  con- 
trasted well  with  the  dark  spreading  trees  that  faced  the  ruins  of 
Blantyre  Priory,  beautifying  the  banks  of  the  Clyde. 

Often  did  John  Wilson  and  his  companions  from  college  visit 
those  enticing  scenes,  and  pleasant  it  is  to  find,  after  a  lapse  of  sixty- 
one  years,  a  memory  fresh  and  distinct  of  these  happy  days.  The 
"Margaret  Lyndsay"  of  that  time,  now  Mrs.  Palmes,  says: — "]My 
knowledge  of  your  talented  father  was  almost  confined  to  the  period 
of  childhood ;  but  I  well  remember  my  own  delight  when  the  fair- 
haired,  animated  boy  was  my  companion  by  the  Calder,  in  races  on 

♦  The  writer  of  this  letter,  Miss  Catharine  Syin,  long  known  in  Glasg;ow  as  one  of  its  most 
original  characters,  was  the  only  unmarried  (laughter  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sym.  She  was  perhaps  one 
of  the  wittiest  women  of  her  time,  in  that  dry  way  so  peculiar  to  Scottish  nature.  Before  she 
died,  not  many  years  a^o,  at  eighty  years  of  iige,  she  returned  to  her  nephew  a  correspondence, 
wid  many  juvenile  manuscripts  that  had  passed  between  them  in  tin,  days  of  his  boyhood.  Not 
long  before  his  death  he  destroyed  those  papers,  which,  had  they  been  extant,  might  have  supplisJ 
some  interesting  materials  for  this  part  of  the  Memoir. 


22  MEMOIR   OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

Dydimont  Hill,  on  foot  or  Avith  our  ponies.  "Whatever  he  did  -was 
done  with  all  his  soul,  whether  in  boy's  play  or  in  those  studies  a}> 
pointed  him  by  my  uncle,  Professor  Jardine.  His  beaming  coun- 
tenance and  eager  manner  showed  his  deep  interest  in  all  he  did. 

"I  recollect  suflering  from  his  purchase  of  a  violin.  My  room 
was  under  his,  and  during  the  night  and  early  morning  hours  he  de- 
voted himself  to  bringing  out  the  most  discordant  sounds ;  for  as 
he  would  not  have  a  master,  the  difficulties  to  be  overcome  only 
proved  an  additional  charm.  The  final  result  of  his  musical  taste  I 
do  not  remember.  Poetry  probably  succeeded,  for  even  at  that 
early  age  he  wrote  little  poems  (long  before  the  'Isle  of  Palms'), 
some  of  which  I  hope  were  preserved." 

From  his  journal  it  is  to  be  seen  he  purchased  other  instruments 
besides  a  violin  : — 

'■'^  February  9th. — Got  a  flute  and  music-hook  to  learn. 

*'  loth. — Began  to  learn  the  flute  by  myself. 

^'- March  Wth. — Patterson  came  to-day.  Liked  Patterson  pretty 
well ;  agreed  Avith  him  for  sixteen  lessons.  Terms,  a  guinea. 
Bought  and  paid  a  German  flute. 

"  12^/*.— Played  a  duet  with  Perkins." 

There  is  no  further  mention  in  Diary  or  elsewhere  of  this  musical 
taste  being  carried  out,  although  his  playing  on  the  flute  at  EUeray, 
long  years  after,  is  a  circumstance  which  inclines  one  to  believe  that 
he  continued  some  practice  on  this  instrument  after  leaving  College. 
He  was,  however,  a  devoted  lover  of  music,  both  vocal  and  instru- 
mental, though  always  preferring  the  former.  His  singing  was 
charming,  uncultivated  as  it  was  by  study ;  no  one  could  listen  to  it 
without  admiration  or  a  touched  heart.  His  voice  was  exquisitely 
sweet,*  which,  combined  with  the  pathos  he  infused  into  every  note, 
and  expressed  in  each  word,  made  the  pleasure  of  hearing  him  a 
thing  to  be  remembered  forever.  His  manner  of  singing  "Auld 
Lang  Syne"  may  be  described  as  a  tribute  of  love  to  the  memory  of 
the  poet,  whose  words  appeared  to  inspire  him  with  something  be 

*  '■'■  yorth. — Do  you  like  niv  voico,  .Tames?    I  hope  yon  do." 

"■Shepherd.— I  wad  ha'e  kent  it.  Mr.  Xorth,  on  the  Tower  o"  BabeL  on  the  day  o'  the  great  hnb- 
bub.  I  think  Socrates  maun  ha'e  had  just  bic  a  voice.  Ye  canna  wt-el  ca't  safL  for  even  in  its 
laigh  notes  there  is  a  sort  o"  birr;  ii  sort  o'  dirl  that  betokens  power.  Ye  canna  ca't  h-iirsh,  for 
angry  as  ye  may  be  at  times,  its'  aye  in  tune,  frae  the  fineness  o"  your  ear  for  music.  Ye  canna 
ca't  sherp.  for  it's  .nyc  sae  nat'ral;  andtlett  it  could  never  be,  gin  you  were  even  gi'en  owerby  the 
doctors.  It's  maist  the  only  vuicc  I  ever  heard  that  yon  can  say  is  at  aince  jH;rsuasive  and  com- 
mandins — you  micht  fear  't,  but  you  maun  love  't" — Jt'iictf-s. 


GLASGOW    COLLEGE. 


»>?. 


yond  vocal  melody ;  liis  sweet,  solemn  voice  filled  the  air  witli 
eouncls  that,  while  they  melted  away,  seemed  still  to  lingei'  on  the 
ear,  delighting  the  sense.  Many  are  there  who  can  remember  the 
effect  produced  by  his  rendering  of  this  beautiful  song. 

There  is  something  very  naive  m  the  Avay  some  of  his  memoranda 
are  mixed  up,  in  humorous  contrast,  the  important  and  trivial  side  by 
side.  Thus  we  ha^e  in  one  line — " Gave  Archy  my  buckskins  to 
clean;"  and  in  the  next,  "Prize  for  the  best  specimens  of  the  So- 
cratic  mode  of  reasoning  given  out  in  the  Logic,"  followed  by 
"  Ordered  a  pair  of  corduroy  breeches,  tailor,  Mr.  Aitken  ;"  "  Began 
the  syllogism  to-day  in  the  Logic  class,"  and  so  on. 

'-'•February  ISth. — Called  on  my  grandmother;  went  to  the  sale 
of  books ;  had  a  boxing-match  of  three  rounds  with  Lloyd — beat  him." 

"  14<A. — General  examination  to-day  in  the  Logic  class;"  "not 
examined;  went  to  the  Mearns  ;"  "went  to  the  sale  ;  went  to  the 
society ;  the  hack  I  had  an  excellent  trotter ;  beat  Fehrzyen  Avith 
ease;  found  a  sack  on  the  road." 

The  result  of  the  sale  seems  to  have  been  most  satisfoctory.  Tw€ 
entries  of  purchases  made  are  such  as  would  give  delight  to  a  boy 
who  paid  due  attention  to  his  expenditure  of  pocket-money  : 
"Bought  Foote's  Works  at  the  sale,  2  vols..  Is.  8d. ;"  "  also  bought 
the  Raynhler,  which  Mr.  Jardine  was  owing  me." 

The  next  item  betrays  a  true  boyish  weakness,  in  the  form  of  a 
consuming  love  for  sweetmeats,  especially  of  one  particular  sort, — 
thus,  "For  barley-sugar,  4d. ;"  and  at  another  time,  "For  barley- 
sugar,  at  my  old  man's,  most  excellent,  Gd."  This  taste  is  fre- 
quently indulged  ;  the  sum  seems  to  increase  too,  by  degrees,  and 
many  a  shilling  was  spent  at  £axter^s  upon  this  favorite  luxury,  for 
whicli  he  retained  his  liking  even  in  old  age. 

During  this  winter  his  studies  had  been  prosecuted  with  consid- 
erable assiduity,  as  may  be  gathered  from  his  notes. 

^^Jajmary  11th. — Agreed  to-day  with  Mr.  Jardine  to  give  up  the 
Greek  class,  as  I  am  too  throng. 

"  20<A. — General  examination  to-day ;  went  to  the  Speculative 
Society ;  spoke  as  a  stranger. 

"2l6'i. — Finished  my  exercise  upon  Logic. 

"  23fZ, — Called  upon  my  grandmother ;  gave  up  the  Greek  pri- 
vate, finding  I  had  too  much  to  do  this  winter. 

'•'■  February  5th. — Finished  n^ '  ^>r"*atic  mode  of  dialogue  to-day. 


24  MEMOIR    OF    JOUN    WILSON. 

^''  April  26/A. — Got  the  first  prize  in  the  Logic  class. 

"  J/ay  Ist. — Prizes  distributed;  got  three  of  them." 

After  this  date  there  is  no  more  alhision  made  to  study  at  Col- 
lege, but  enough  has  been  quoted  to  show  how  he  was  disposed 
towards  it.  The  rest  of  the  summer  is  spent  in  various  ways 
amusing  to  boyhood,  while  it  is  evident  that  the  more  agreeable 
pleasure  of  ladies'  society  was  not  wanting  to  interest  him.  The 
lasting  eSect  of  love  on  a  boy's  mind  is,  with  most,  a  matter  of 
doubt ;  but  where  there  is  depth  of  character,  and  sincerity  as  well 
as  strength  of  feeling,  the  results  are  not  always  to  be  judged  by 
common  experience.  How  it  fared  with  him  in  this  respect,  will 
be  touched  upon  in  another  chapter. 

One  or  two  more  extracts  fi-om  the  Diary  before  this  year  has 
closed  must  be  given.  The  first  is  characteristic  of  his  constant 
energy  and  movement.  Even  a  simple  walk  with  a  friend  finds 
him  wearied  with  any  thing  like  delay  :  "Walked  to  Paisley  with 
Andrew  Xapier  ;  tried  him  a  race  ;  ran  three  miles  on  the  Paisley 
road  for  a  wager  against  a  chaise^  along  with  Andrew  Napier ;  beat 
them  bothy  Another  exploit  of  a  similar  nature,  at  a  somewhat 
later  date,  is  related  by  a  friend  who  was  present  on  the  occa- 
sion :* — 

"  He  gained  a  bet  by  walking  toe  and  heel  three  miles  out  and 
back  (six  miles  in  all)  on  the  road  to  Renfrew,  from  the  sheiMlnrj 
of  the  roads  to  Renfrew  and  Paisley,  in  two  minutes  irithia  the 
hour.  I  accompanied  him  on  foot  (but  not  under  the  restriction  of 
toe  and  heel),  and  Willy  Dunlop  on  horseback,  to  see  that  it  was 
feirly  won.  Xobody  could  match  your  father  in  the  college  garden 
at  'hop,  step,  and  jump.'  Macleod  (now  the  Rev.  Dr.  Xorman 
Macleod,  sen.),  an  active  Highlander  from  Morven,  who  had  also 
the  advantage  of  being  his  senior,  approached  most  nearly  to 
him." 

It  appears  that  even  in  holiday-time  he  set  himself  to  work. 

'■'■  June  4:th. — Finished  my  poem  on  Slavery. 

"  7th. — Began  an  essay  on  the  Faculty  of  Imagination. 

*■'■  August  11th. — Finished  the  first  volume  of  Laing's  History  of 
Scotland. 

'■''August  30th. — Made  considerable  progress  in  my  essay  upon 
Jmngination ;  finished  the  second  division  of  my  exercise. 

♦  Mr.  Robert  Fin.llav. 


GLASGOW   COLLEGE.  25 

"3l5<. — Stayed  at  home  all  day ;  wrote  an  account  of  the  Mas- 
snore  of  Glencoe." 

'■'■September  I9th. — Stayed  at  home  all  day,  and  wrote  an  essay 
upon  the  Stoical  Philosophy." 

The  notion  of  John  Wilson  having  been  at  any  time  of  his  life  an 
idle  man,  must  have  seemed  absurd  to  those  who  knew  him,  ihoucjh 
perhaps,  for  people  who  think  that  a  hard  worker  must  necessarily 
be  dull  and  tiresome,  natural  enough.  Even  in  his  boyhood  my 
father  was  no  idler ;  and  there  remains  still  more  convincing  proof 
of  his  assiduity  and  love  of  study  to  be  shown  in  his  career  when  at 
Oxford.  There  is  yet  some  short  time  to  be  accounted  for,  spent  in 
Glasgow  ;  and  of  his  friendships  formed  at  College,  something  may 
be  said  in  this  place.  Boys  generally  combine  themselves  when  at 
public  schools,  and  other  seminaries  of  education,  into  select  co- 
teries, and  are  as  frequently  judged  by  the  qualities  of  their  com- 
panions as  by  their  own.  The  very  high  character  of  the  Glasgow 
professors  at  that  time  almost  insured  a  certain  number  of  first-class 
youths,  especially  as  several  of  them  received  into  their  own  houses 
young  men  whose  education  was  privately,  as  well  as  in  their 
classes,  under  their  superintendence. 

Mr.  Alexander  Blair,  to  whom  my  father  dedicated  an  edition  of 
his  poems,  was  an  Englishman,  and  with  him  he  began,  at  Glasgow, 
an  intercourse  that  ripened  into  a  lifelong  friendship.  This  gentle- 
man has  been  deterred  from  acquiring  a  piominent  position  in  the 
Avorld  as  a  philosopher  and  scholar,  solely  by  the  modesty  and  diffi- 
dence of  his  character.  He  was  my  father's  companion  both  at 
Glasgow  and  at  Oxford,  and  in  after  life  the  Professor  derived  most 
valuable  aid  in  his  philosophical  investigations  from  this  friend, 
whose  correspondence  with  him  for  many  years  was  uninterrupted. 
It  is  much  to  be  regretted  that  letters  of  so  interesting  and  elevated 
a  character  should,  with  one  or  two  exceptions,  have  perished. 
Another  of  those  early  companions  was  Robert  Findlay  of  Easter 
Ilill,  grandson  of  an  accomplished  and  learned  doctor  of  divinity 
well  known  and  beloved  in  Glasgow.  He  too  continued  a  friend 
until  death  ;  and  from  him  there  have  come  to  me  many  treasured 
memorials  of  an  affection  on  both  sides  like  that  of  brothers.  Be- 
sides these  two,  the  most  intimate  associates  of  John  Wilson  in 
those  days  were  JNIr.  WiUiam  Ilorton  Lloyd,  an  Englishman  of  large 
fortune  (whose  beautiful  sister  married  Mr.  Leonard  Hornerj,  Mr. 
2 


2b  M?::sioiii  of  joiin  wilson, 

"William  Dunlop,  and  Archibald  Hamilton,  a  distant  relative  of  my 
father,  who  afteruards  entered  the  navy,  and  prematurely  closed 
his  promising  career  in  the  engagement  off"  Basque  Roads. 

"With  these  young  men  poetry  was  a  frequent  subject  of  discus- 
sion, and  there  was  one  poet,  viz.,  William  Wordsworth,  on  whose 
merits,  then  but  little  recognized,  they  found  themselves  unanimous. 
Some  time  before  he  closed  his  career  at  Glasgow  University,  Wil- 
son's attention  was  attracted  by  the  Lyrical  Ballads^  which  had 
been  recently  published.  There  were  at  that  time  few  eyes  that  had 
discerned  in  them  the  sis^ns  of  future  greatness.  Among  the  earliest 
and  most  enthusiastic,  but  also  most  discriminating  of  their  admir- 
ers, was  young  Wilson,  who  ci^nveyed  his  sentiments  to  the  poet  in 
a  letter  of  considerable  length,  w^ritten  in  a  spirit  of  profound  humil- 
itv,  at  the  same  time  with  perfect  independence  of  expression.  It  is 
as  follows : — 

"IvIy  dear  Sir: — You  may  perhaps  be  surprised  to  see  yourself 
addressed  in  this  manner  by  one  who  never  had  the  happiness  of 
being  in  company  with  you,  and  whose  knowledge  of  your  charac- 
ter is  drawn  solely  from  the  perusal  of  your  poems.  But,  sir,  though 
I  am  not  personally  acquainted  with  you,  I  may  almost  venture  to 
affirm,  that  the  qualities  of  your  soul  are  not  unknown  to  me.  In 
your  poems  I  discovered  such  marks  of  delicate  feeling,  such  benev- 
olence of  disposition,  and  such  knowledge  of  human  nature,  as  made 
an  impression  on  my  mind  that  nothing  will  ever  efface ;  and  while 
I  felt  my  soul  refined  by  the  sentiments  contained  in  them,  and  filled 
with  those  delightful  emotions  which  it  would  be  almost  impossible 
to  describe,  I  entertained  for  you  an  attachment  made  up  of  love 
and  admiration :  reflection  upon  that  delight  which  I  enjoyed  from 
reading  your  poems,  wUl  ever  make  me  regard  you  with  gratitude, 
And  the  consciousness  of  feeling  those  emotions  you  delineate  makes 
•le  proud  to  regard  your  character  with  esteem  and  admiration.  In 
whatever  view  you  regard  my  behavior  in  writing  this  letter, 
<fhether  you  consider  it  as  the  effect  of  ignorance  and  conceit,  or 
correct  laste  and  refined  feeling,  I  will,  in  my  own  mind,  be  satisfied 
with  yovtr  oi)inion.  To  receive  a  letter  from  you  would  afiurd  me 
.norc  happiness  than  any  occurrence  in  this  world,  save  the  happi- 
ness of  my  friends,  and  greatly  enhance  the  pleasure  I  receive  from 
reading  your  Lyrical  Ballads.     Your  silence  would  certainly  dis- 


GLASGOW    COLLEGE.  27 

tress  mc;  but  still  I  would  have  the  happiness  to  tliiiik  that  the 
neglect  even  of  the  virtuous  cannot  extinguish  the  sparks  of  sen.si- 
bility,  or  diminish  the  luxury  arising  from  rciined  emotions.  That 
luxury,  sir,  I  have  enjoyed ;  that  luxury  your  poems  have  afforded 
me,  and  for  this  reason  I  now  address  you.  Accept  ray  thanks  for 
tlie  rapluies  you  have  occasioned  me,  and  however  much  you  maj 
be  inclined  to  despise  me,  know  at  least  that  tliese  thanks  are  sincere 
and  fervent.  To  you,  sir,  mankuid  are  indebted  l\)r  a  species  of 
poetry  which  will  continue  to  aiford  pleasure  while  respect  is  paid 
to  virtuous  feelings,  and  while  sensibility  continues  to  pour  forth 
tears  of  raj)ture.  The  flimsy  ornaments  of  language,  used  to  con- 
ceal meanness  of  thought  and  want  of  feeling,  may  captivate  for  a 
short  time  the  ignorant  and  the  unwary,  but  true  taste  will  discover 
the  imposture  and  expose  the  authors  of  it  to  merited  contempt. 
The  real  feelings  of  human  nature,  expressed  in  simple  and  forcible 
language,  will,  on  the  contrary,  please  those  only  who  are  capable 
of  entertaining  them,  and  in  proportion  to  the  attention  which  we 
pay  to  the  faithful  delineation  of  such  feelings,  will  be  the  enjoy- 
ment derived  from  them.  That  poetry,  therefore,  which  is  the  lan- 
guage of  nature,  is  certain  of  immortality,  provided  circumstances 
do  not  occur  to  pervert  the  feelings  of  humanity,  and  occasion  a 
complete  revolution  in  the  government  of  the  mind. 

"That  your  poetry  is  the  language  of  nature,  in  my  oi)inion, 
admits  of  no  doubt.  Both  the  thoughts  and  expressions  raay  be 
tried  by  that  standard.  You  have  seized  upon  those  feelings  that 
most  deej)ly  interest  the  heart,  and  that  also  cduic  within  the  sphere 
of  common  observation.  You  do  not  write  merely  for  tlie  jjleasure 
of  philosophers  and  men  of  improved  taste,  but  for  all  who  think — 
for  all  who  feel.  If  we  have  ever  known  the  hapjuness  arising  from 
parental  or  fi-aternal  love ;  if  we  have  ever  known  that  delightful 
sympathy  of  souls  connecting  pei'sons  of  different  sex ;  if  we  have 
ever  dropped  a  tear  at  the  death  of  friends,  or  grieved  for  the  mis- 
fortunes of  others ;  if,  in  short,  we  have  ever  felt  the  more  amiabk 
emotions  of  human  nature — it  is  impossible  to  read  your  poems  with 
out  being  greatly  interested  and  frequently  in  raptures ;  your  sen 
timents,  feelings,  and  thoughts  are  therefore  exactly  such  as  ouglr 
to  constitute  the  subject  of  poetry,  and  cannot  fail  of  exciting  interes 
in  every  heart.  But,  sir,  your  merit  does  not  solely  consist  in  delit 
eating  the  real  features  of  the  human  mind  under  those  differei 


28  MEMOm   OF    JOIIX    WILSON. 

aspects  it  assumes,  when  under  the  influence  of  various  passions  and 
feelings ;  you  have,  in  a  manner  truly  admirable,  explained  a  circum- 
stance, very  important  in  its  elfefls  upon  the  soul  when  agitated, 
that  has  indeed  been  frequently  alluded  to,  but  never  generally 
adopted  by  any  author  in  tracing  the  progress  of  emotions — I  mean 
that  wonderful  effect  which  the  appearances  of  external  nature  liave 
upon  the  mind  when  in  a  state  of  strong  feeling.  We  must  all  have 
been  sensible,  that  when  under  the  influence  oH  grief,  Xature,  when 
arrayed  in  her  gayest  attire,  appears  to  us  dull  and  gloomy,  and 
that  when  our  hearts  bound  with  joy,  her  most  deformed  prospects 
seldom  fail  of  pleasing.  This  disposition  of  the  mind  to  assimilate 
the  appearances  of  external  nature  to  its  own  situation,  is  a  fine  sub- 
ject for  poetical  allusion,  and  in  several  poems  you  have  employed 
it  with  a  most  electrifying  efiect.  But  you  have  not  stopped  here, 
you  have  shown  the  eftect  which  the  qualities  of  external  nature 
have  in  forming  the  human  mind,  and  have  presented  us  with  sev- 
eral characters  whose  particular  bias  arose  from  that  situation  in 
which  they  were  planted  with  respect  to  the  scenery  of  nature. 
Tliis  idea  is  inexpressibly  beautiful,  and  though,  I  confess,  that  to 
me  it  appeared  to  border  upon  fiction  when  I  first  considered  it,  yet 
at  this  moment  I  am  convinced  of  its  foundation  in  nature,  and  its 
great  importance  in  accounting  for  \arious  phenomena  in  the  humau 
mind.  It  serves  to  explain  those  diversities  in  the  structure  of  the 
mind  which  have  batfled  all  the  ingenuity  of  philosophers  to  account 
for.  It  serves  to  overturn  the  theories  of  men  who  have  attempted 
to  write  on  human  nature  without  a  knowledge  of  the  causes  that 
affect  it,  and  who  have  discovered  greater  eagerness  to  show  their 
own  subtlety  than  arrive  at  the  acquisition  of  truth.  3Iay  not  the 
face  of  external  nature  through  different  quarters  of  the  globe  account 
lor  the  dispositions  of  different  nations '?  May  not  mountains,  forests, 
plains,  groves,  and  lakes,  as  much  as  the  temperature  of  the  atmos- 
phere, or  the  form  of  government,  produce  important  eflects  upon 
the  human  soul ;  and  may  not  the  difference  subsisting  between  the 
former  of  these  in  different  countries,  produce  as  much  diversity 
among  the  inhabitants  as  any  varieties  among  the  latter  ?  The  ettect 
you  have  shown  to  take  place  in  particular  cases,  so  much  to  my  sat- 
isfaction, most  certainly  may  be  extended  so  far  as  to  authorize  gen- 
eral inferences.  This  idea  has  no  doubt  struck  yon ;  and  I  trust 
that  if  it  be  founded  on  nature,  your  mind,  so  long  accustomed  to 


GLASGOW    COLLEGE.  29 

philosophical  iuvestigation,  will  perceive  how  far  it  may  be  carried, 
and  what  consequences  are  likely  to  result  from  it. 

'•  Your  poems,  sir,  are  of  very  gi-eat  advantage  to  the  world,  from 
containing  in  them  a  system  of  philosophy  that  regards  one  of  the 
most  curious  subjects  of  investigation,  and  at  the  same  time  one  of 
the  most  important.  But  your  poems  may  not  be  considered 
merely  in  a  philosophical  light,  or  even  as  containing  refined  and 
natural  feelings  ;  they  present  us  with  a  body  of  morality  of  the 
purest  kind.  They  represent  the  enjoyment  resulting  from  the  cul- 
tivation of  the  social  aft'ections  of  our  nature;  they  inculcate  a  con- 
scientious regard  to  the  rights  of  our  fellow-men  ;  they  show  that 
every  creature  on  the  face  of  the  earth  is  entitled  in  some  measure 
to  our  kindness.  They  prove  that  in  every  mind,  however  depraved, 
there  exist  some  qualities  deserving  our  esteem.  They  point  out 
the  proper  way  to  happiness.  Tliey  show  that  such  a  thing  as  per- 
fect misery  does  not  exist.  They  Hash  on  our  souls  conviction  of 
immortality.  Considered  therefore  in  this  view,  Lyrical  Jiallads 
is,  to  use  your  own  words,  the  book  which  I  value  next  to  my  IJi- 
ble ;  and  though  I  may,  perhaps,  never  have  the  happiness  of  see- 
ing you,  yet  I  will  always  consider  you  as  a  friend,  who  has  by  his 
instructions  done  me  a  service  which  it  never  can  be  in  my  power 
to  repay.  Your  instructions  have  afforded  me  inexpressible  plea- 
sure ;  it  will  be  my  own  fault  if  I  do  not  reap  from  them  mucli 
advantage. 

"  I  have  said,  sir,  that  in  all  your  poems  you  have  adhered  strictly 
to  natural  feelings,  and  described  what  comes  within  the  range  of 
every  person's  observation.  It  is  from  following  out  tliis  plan  that, 
in  my  estimation,  you  have  surpassed  every  ])oet  both  of  ancient  and 
modern  times.  But  to  me  it  appears  that  in  the  execution  of  this 
design  you  have  inadvertently  fallen  into  an  error,  the  effects  of 
which  are,  however,  exceedingly  trivial.  No  feeling,  no  state  of 
mind  ought,  in  my  oj)inion,  to  become  the  subject  of  poetry,  that 
does  not  please.  Pleasure  may,  indeed,  be  produced  in  many  ways, 
and  by  means  that,  at  first  sight,  appear  calculated  to  accomplish  a 
very  different  end.  Tragedy  of  the  deepest  kind  produces  pleasure 
of  a  high  nature.  To  point  out  the  causes  of  this  would  be  foreign 
to  the  purpose.  But  we  may  lay  this  down  as  a  general  rule,  that 
no  description  can  please,  where  the  sympathies  of  our  soul  are  not 
excited,  and  no  narration  interest,  where  we  do  not  eater  into  the 


30  MEMOIR    OF    JOnX    WILSON. 

eelings  of  some  of  the  parties  concerned.  On  this  principle,  many 
•  eelings  wliich  arc  undoubtedly  natural,  are  improper  subjects  of 
poetry,  and  many  situations,  no  less  natural,  incapable  of  being  de- 
scribed so  as  to  produce  the  grand  eficct  of  poetical  composition. 
This,  sir,  I  would  apprehend,  is  reasonable,  and  founded  on  the  con- 
stitution of  the  human  mind.  There  are  a  thousand  occurrences 
happening  every  day,  which  do  not  in  the  least  interest  an  uncon- 
cerned spectator,  though  they  no  doubt  occasion  various  emotions 
in  the  breast  of  those  to  whom  they  immediately  relate.  To  de- 
scribe these  in  poetry  would  be  improper.  Now,  sir,  I  think  that 
in  several  cases  you  have  fallen  into  this  error.  You  have  described 
feelings  Avith  which  I  cannot  sympathize,  and  situations  in  which  I 
take  no  interest.  I  know  that  I  can  relish  your  beauties,  and  that 
makes  me  think  that  I  can  also  perceive  your  faults.  But  in  this 
matter  I  have  not  trusted  wholly  to  my  own  judgment,  but  heard 
the  sentiments  of  men  whose  feelings  I  admired,  and  whose  under- 
standing I  respected.  In  a  few  cases,  then,  I  think  that  even  you 
have  failed  to  excite  interest.  In  the  poem  entitled  '  The  Idiot  Boy,' 
your  intention,  as  you  inform  us  in  your  preface,  was  to  trace  the 
maternal  passion  through  its  more  subtle  windings.  This  design  is 
no  doubt  accompanied  with  much  difficulty,  but,  if  properly  execu- 
ted, cannot  fail  of  interesting  the  heart.  But,  sir,  in  my  opinion, 
the  manner  in  which  you  have  executed  this  plan  has  frustrated  tlie 
end  you  intended  to  produce  by  it ;  the  aifection  of  Betty  Foy  has 
nothing  in  it  to  excite  interest.  It  exhibits  merely  the  eftects  of 
that  instinctive  feeling  inherent  in  the  constitution  of  every  animal. 
The  excessive  fondness  of  the  mother  disgusts  us,  and  prevents  us 
from  sympathizing  with  lier.  We  are  unable  to  enter  into  lur 
feelings ;  we  cannot  conceive  ourselves  actuated  by  the  same  feel- 
ings, and  consequently  take  little  or  no  interest  in  her  situation 
The  object  of  her  aifection  is  mdeed  her  son,  and  in  that  relation 
much  consists,  but  then  he  is  represented  as  totally  destitute  of 
any  attachment  towards  her  ;  the  state  of  his  mind  is  represented 
as  pertl'Ctly  deplorable,  and,  in  short,  to  me  it  appears  alniosi 
unnatural  that  a  person  in  a  state  of  complete  idiotism  should 
excite  the  warmest  feelings  of  attachment  in  the  breast  even  of  his 
mother.  This  much  I  know,  that  among  all  the  people  ever  I 
knew  to  have  read  this  poem,  I  never  met  one  who  did  not  rise 
rather  displeased  frcm  the  perusal  of  it,  and  the  only  cause  I  could 


GLASGOW    COLLEGE.  31 

assign  for  it  was  tlic  one  now  mentioned.  This  inability  to  rccei\'e 
pleasure  from  descriptions  sucli  as  that  of  '  The  Idiot  Boy,'  is,  I 
am  c-onviiiced,  founded  upon  established  feelings  of  liuiium  nature, 
and  the  principle  of  it  constitutes,  as  I  dare  say  you  recollect, 
the  leading  feature  of  Smith's  Theory  of  Moral  Sentiments.  I 
therefore  think  that,  in  the  choice  of  this  subject,  you  have  com- 
mitted an  error.  You  never  deviate  from  nature  ;  in  you  that 
would  be  impossible;  but  in  tliis  case  you  have  delineated  feelings 
which,  though  natural,  do  not  please,  but  which  create  a  certain 
degree  of  disgust  an<l  contempt.  With  regard  to  the  manner  in 
which  you  have  executed  your  plan,  I  think  too  great  praise  cannot 
be  bestowed  upon  your  talents.  You  have  most  admirably  deline- 
ated the  idiotism  of  the  boy's  mind,  and  the  situations  in  which  you 
place  him  are  perfectly  calculated  to  display  it.  The  various 
thoughts  that  pass  through  the  mother's  mind  are  highly  descrip- 
tive of  her  foolish  fondness,  her  extravagant  fears,  and  her  ardent 
hopes.  The  manner  in  which  you  show  how  bodily  sufferings  are 
frequently  removed  by  mental  anxieties  or  pleasures,  in  the  descrip- 
tion of  the  cure  of  Betty  Foy's  female  friend,  is  excessively  Avell 
managed,  and  serves  to  establish  a  very  curious  and  important 
truth.  In  short,  every  thmg  you  proposed  to  execute  has  been 
executed  in  a  masterly  manner.  The  fault,  if  there  be  one,  lies  in 
the  plan,  not  in  the  execution.  This  poem  we  heard  recommended 
as  one  in  your  best  manner,  and  accordingly  it  is  frequently  read  in 
this  belief  The  judgment  formed  of  it  is,  consequently,  erroneous. 
Many  people  ai"e  displeased  with  the  performance ;  but  they  are  not 
careful  to  distinguish  faults  in  the  plan  from  faults  in  the  execution, 
and  the  consequence  is,  that  they  foi-m  an  improper  opinion  of 
your  genius.  In  reading  any  c(vnposition,  most  certainly  tlie  plea- 
sure Ave  receive  arises  almost  wholly  from  the  sentiment,  thoughts, 
and  descriptions  contained  in  it.  A  secondary  pleasure  arises  from 
admiration  of  those  talents  requisite  to  the  production  of  it.  In 
reading  'The  Idiot  Boy,'  all  persons  wlio  allow  tliemselves  to  think, 
must  admire  your  talents,  but  they  regret  that  they  have  been  so 
employed,  and  while  they  esteem  the  author,  they  cannot  help  being 
displeased  with  his  ])erformance.  I  have  seen  a  most  excelUnt 
painting  of  an  idiot,  but  it  created  in  me  inexpressible  disgust.  1 
admired  the  talents  of  the  artist,  but  I  had  no  other  source  of  plea 
sure.     The  poem  of 'The  Idiot  Boy'  produced  upon  me  an  efiect  in 


32  mt:moik  of  joiin  wilson. 

every  respect  similar.  I  find  that  my  remarks  upon  several  of  your 
other  poems  must  be  reserved  for  another  letter.  If  you  think  this 
one  deserves  an  answer,  a  letter  from  Wordsworth  would  be  to  me  a 
treasure.  If  your  silence  tells  me  that  my  letter  was  beneath  your 
notice,  you  will  never  again  be  troubled  by  one  whom  you  consider 
as  an  ignorant  admirer.  But,  if  your  mind  be  as  amiable  as  it  is 
reflected  in  your  poems,  you  will  make  allowance  for  defects  that 
age  may  supply,  and  make  a  fellow-creature  happy,  by  dedicating  a 
few  moments  to  the   instruction  of  an  adnurer  and  sincere  friend, 

"  JouN  Wilson. 
"  Professor  Jardine's  College,  Glasgow, 

2-i:th  May,  1802. 
"  William  Wordsworth,  Esq., 
Ambleside,  Westmoreland,  England."  * 


CHAPTER    III. 


LOVE    AND    POETEY. LIFE     AT     OXFORD. 

1803-08. 

"Then,  after  all  tlie  joys  and  sorrows  of  these  few  years,  which 
we  now  call  transitory,  but  which  our  noviiooD  felt  as  if  they  would 
be  endless — as  if  they  would  endure  forever — arose  upon  us  the 
glorious  dawning  of  another  new  life, — Youth,  with  its  insupport- 
able sunshine  and  its  agitating  storms.  Transitory,  too,  we  now 
know,  and  well  deserving  the  same  name  of  dream.  But  while  it 
laste<l,  long,  various,  and  agoniziiiif,  as,  unable  to  sustain  the  eyes 
that  first  revealed  to  us  the  light  of  love,  we  hurried  away  from  the 
parting  hour,  and  looking  up  to  moon  and  stars,  invocated  in  sacred 
oaths,  hugged  the  very  heavens  to  our  heart." 

These  sentences  contain  one  among  many  references  in  my  father's 
writings  to  an  episode  in  his  early  life,  of  which,  had  Ave  only  these 
incidental  and  sometimes  imaginative  allusions  to  guide  us,  no  more 

*  The  answer  to  this  letter  will  be  found  at  pase  192.  vol.  i..  of  3femoirs  ,rf  W.  Wordiworfh, 
by  C.  Wordsworth,  D.  D,  1351.  For  the  foregoinn;  letter  I  am  indebted  to  Mr.  W.  Wordsworth, 
son  of  the  poet,  who  kindly  sent  it  to  me,  and  also  pointed  out  the  reply,  which  is  introduced  in 
the  Memoirs,  without  a  hint  as  to  wtiom  it  was  addressecL 


I  0\'E   AND   POETRY.  33 

could  he  said  hy  the  veracious  biographer,  than  that,  at  the  ai:;e 
when  nature  po  ordains,  this  ardent  and  precocious  youth  was  pas- 
sionately in  love.  So  brief  and  general  a  statement,  however,  wttidd 
but  very  poorly  express  the  realities  of  the  case,  or  indicate  the 
depth  of  the  influence  which  that  first  overwhelming  passion  exerted 
on  the  whole  nature  of  John  Wilson.  As  he  lias  himself  said, 
"What  is  mere  boy -love  but  a  moonlight  dream?  Who  would 
weep — who  would  not  laugh  over  the  catastrophe  of  such  a  blood- 
less tragedy?  .  .  .  But  love  affairs,  when  the  lovers  are  full-grown 
men  and  women,  though  perhaps  twenty  years  have  not  passed 
over  either  of  their  heads,  are  at  least  tragi-comedies,  and.  some- 
times, tragedies ;  closing,  if  not  in  blood,  although  that  too  when 
the  Fates  are  angry,  yet  in  clouds  that  darken  all  future  life,  and 
that,  now  and  then,  lose  their  sullen  blackness  only  when  dissolving, 
through  the  transient  sunshine,  in  a  shower  of  tears."  Such  a  love 
affair  was  this,  now  for  the  first  time  to  be  made  known  beyond  a 
circle  consisting  of  some  three  or  four  persons  that  are  alive. 

In  that  note-book,  already  made  use  of,  the  names  of  two  ladies  fre- 
quently are  noted.  It  may  be  seen  that  his  visits  to  them  were  not 
paid  after  the  fashion  of  formal  courtesy,  and  that  Miss  W.  and 
Miss  M.  had  made  Dychmont  to  him  a  charmed  place.  Towards 
autumn,  when  walks  along  the  banks  of  the  Clyde  begin  to  be  de- 
lightful, these  notices  are  of  almost  daily  occurrence.  One  day  he 
calls  at  Dychmont;  then  he  drinks  tea  with  Miss  W.  and  Miss  M. : 
he  rides  to  Cumbernauld  with  Miss  W. :  "Very  pleasant  and  agree- 
able ride;"  again,  "drank  tea  at  Dychmont;"  then  for  the  next 
three  days  at  home,  and  begins  his  essay  "  On  the  Faculty  of  Im- 
agination ;"  next  evening  it  is  again,  "  Dr.ank  tea  at  Dychmont ;" 
and  so  on  through  the  month, — nothing  but  Dychmont,  walking, 
riding,  breakfasting,  dining,  supping  "at  Dychmont,"  or  "with 
Dychmont  ladies"  somewhere. 

This  attractive  place  was  but  a  simple  farm-house,  unadorned  and 
almost  homely,  but  the  country  around  it  was  delightful.  The  hill, 
from  which  it  takes  its  name,  is  part  of  the  dukedom  of  Ilaniilton, 
and  from  its  summit  the  valley  of  the  Clyde,  from  Tinto  to  the 
mountains  of  the  west,  presents  a  view  of  great  beauty.  No  portion 
of  the  Clyde  is  without  beauty ;  for  the  most  part,  more  noble  than 
the  Rhine,  with  a  sweep  of  water  quite  as  majestic,  it  flows  through 
a  variety  of  country  ever  embellished  by  its  presence.     Along  the 


34  MEMOLK   OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

hanks  of  tlie  Clyde  and  Calder  M-ere  all  the  favorite  walks  of  John 
Wilson,  for  there  were  "  Ila  Iside,"  "  Calder  Bank,"  "  Millheuj^h,"' 
"Caldcrwood,"  and  "Torrance,"  which,  in  later  years,  carried  from 
Dyclnnont  its  attraction,  and  became  the  scene  of  joy  and  sorrow, 
deep  as  ever  moved  a  young  poet's  heart. 

The  occupants  of  Dychmont  were  two  ladies,  Miss  W.  and  Mar- 
garet, as  I  may  simply  name  her ;  the  one  the  guardian  of  the  other, 
an  "  or|)han-maid"  of  ''high  talent  and  mental  graces,"  with  fascinar 
tion  of  manners  sufficient  to  rivet  the  regard  of  a  youth  keenly  alive 
tc  such  charms.  At  the  time  of  Wilson's  residence  in  Glasgow 
these  ladies  were  the  most  intimate  friends  he  had  beyond  the  cir- 
cle of  his  youthftil  companions.  During  winter  they  lived  in  the 
College  buildings,  and  were  frequent  visitors  at  Professor  Jardiiie's, 
so  that  every  opportunity  existed  for  the  cultivation  of  a  friendship 
that  gradually  ripened  into  love,  "life-deep"  and  passionate  on  the 
one  side;  on  the  other  sincere  and  tender,  but  tranquil  and  self- 
contained,  as  if  presaging,  with  woman's  instinct,  the  envious  bar- 
riers that  were  to  keep  their  two  lives  from  flowing  into  one. 

At  the  date  when  their  acquaintance  began,  John  Wilson  had 
that  composed  and  perfected  manner  which  is  acquired  intuitively 
by  the  gentl-er  sex,  and  gives  them  an  advantage  in  society  rarely 
possessed  by  boys  at  the  same  age.  Thus  Margaret,  though  lio 
longer  a  school-girl,  was  delighted  to  find  a  companion  so  congenial 
as  to  excite  at  once  her  interest  and  friendship ;  while  young  AVil- 
son  saw  in  the  "  orphan-maid"  a  creature  to  admire  and  love,  with 
all  that  fervor  which  belonged  to  his  poetical  temperament.  Their 
occupations  encouraged  the  growth  of  graceful  accomplishments ; 
nor  were  their  rides  and  walks  merely  pastimes  of  pleasure;  sterner 
matter  arose  from  those  early  hours,  and  we  have  words  of  the  past 
that  make  every  line  of  this  love-passage  a  tale  of  sorrow,  sad  enough 
for  tears.  A  few  years  of  this  bright  spring-tide  of  youth  pass  away, 
and  one  heart  feels  the  gentle  quiet  of  its  womanly  interest  gliding  ' 
insensibly  and  surely  into  something  more  deep  and  agitating,  as 
does  the  dewy  calm  of  daybreak  into  the  fervent  splendor  of  noon. 
The  love  of  a  poet  is  seldom  so  submissive  as  that  which  lonsr  ago 
wrote  its  touching  confession  in  these  words : — 

"  Braraa  assai,  poco  spcra,  e  nulla  cliiede." 
Trace  this  story  fiuthtr,  and  we  see  two  years  later  that  deeper 


LOVE    AND    I'OKTKY.  35 

feelings  were  brought  into  phiy  ;  and  though  the  hiili-ininded  Mar- 
garet gave  no  assurance  to  her  lover  entitling  him  to  legard  tier 
heart  as  bound  to  him,  it  is  at  least  apparent  that  when,  at  the  end 
of  that  time,  he  left  Scotland  for  Oxford,  tlieir  communings  had 
been  such  that  the  heart  of  the  young  poet  looked  back  to  them  as 
recalling  memories  of  "  umningled  bliss."  There  is  1)1  the  essay  on 
"Streams"  an  imaginative  episode,  uumifestly /ow/icZet?  on  reality; 
but  as  manifestly  designed  to  be  a  skilful  mystitication  of  his  real 
and  unforgotten  experience.  As  he  naiveli/  hints  at  the  end,  "there 
is  some  truth  in  it ;"  truth  to  this  extent,  undoubtedly,  that  in  "  that 
gloomy  but  ever-glorious  glen,"  of  which  he  speaks,  young  John 
Wilson  and  Margaret  did  meet  many  a  time,  and  hold  sweet  con- 
verse together;  that  to  her  sympathizing  ear  he  poured  forth  the 
aspirations  of  as  pure  and  ardent  a  love  as  ever  dwelt  in  the  breast 
of  youth;  and  that  the  recollection  of  those  happy  hours,  and  of  her 
many  modest  charms,  working  in  a  nature  of  fiery  susceptibility 
and  earnestness,  drove  him  afterwards,  when  clouds  came  over  the 
heaven  of  his  dreams,  to  the  very  brink  of  despair.  The  coloring 
of  imagination  has  transformed  the  picture  in  "  Streams"  into  a 
vision  of  things  that  never  were ;  but  there  is  no  fiction  in  the  de- 
scription of  that  passion  as  having  "  stormed  the  citadel  of  his  heart, 
and  put  the  whole  garrison  to  the  sword,"  or,  elsewhere,  as  "  a  life- 
deep  love,  call  it  passion,  pity,  friendship,  brotherly  affection,  all 
united  together  by  smiles,  sighs,  anil  tears." 

Of  his  life,  from  the  date  last  mentioned  to  the  time  of  his  leav- 
ing GlasgoAV  for  Oxford,  I  have  unfortunately  no  memorial  in  the 
shape  of  letters,  his  coiTespondence  with  his  aunt  already  referred 
to,  Avho  was  his  confidante  and  constant  correspondent  throughout, 
having  been  irretrievably  lost.  There  has  come  to  my  hands,  how- 
ever, a  memorial  of  his  love  for  Margaret,  consisting  of  an  octavo 
volume  of  "  Poems"  in  MS.,  written  in  that  fair  and  beautiful  hand 
which  he  wrote  up  to  the  time  when  (it  is  no  fancy  to  say  so)  the 
"  fever  of  the  soul"  begins  to  show  itself  in  the  impetuous  tracings 
of  his  pen.  It  is  without  date,  but  must  have  been  written  before 
he  left  Glasgow.  On  the  title-page,  facing  Avhich  are  two  dedica- 
tory verses,  is  the  inscription,  "Poems  on  various  sul)jects,  by  John 
Wilson,"  with  a  poetical  quotation  below.  On  the  next  leaf  is  thi> 
hiscription : — • 


3(>  MliMOIK    OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

TO 
MARGARET, 

THE   FOLLOWING   LITTLE    POEMS, 
WHICH    OWE    ANY   BEAUTY   THEY   POSSESS 

TO   THE   DELICACY   OP    HER   FEEJ.INGS, 

AND   THE   EMOTIONS   SHE   HAS   INSPIRED, 

ARE,    AS   A    SMALL   MARK 

OP    HIS   ESTEEM   AND   REGARD, 

INSCRIBED 

BY  HER  WARMEST   FRIEND   AND   SINCEREST  ADMIREB, 

JOHN    WILSON.* 

After  this  comes  an  elaborate  preface  of  thirty-eight  MS.  pages, 
which,  considering  that  it  was  the  composition  of  a  youth  under 
eighteen,  is  very  remarkable  for  the  ease  and  grace  of  the  style,  the 
knowledge  of  poetical  literature,  the  acute  critical  faculty,  and  the 
judicious  and  elevated  sentiments  which  it  displays.  This  Preface, 
and  the  poetical  compositions  to  which  it  is  prefixed,  indicate  suffi- 
ciently that  the  person  to  whom  they  were  addressed  must  have 
possessed  no  ordinary  mental  qualities,  and  that  the  relation  be- 
tween her  and  the  writer  was  founded  on  a  true  congeniality  of 
feeling. 

The  poems  are  thirty-eight  in  number,  including  an  "  Answer" 
by  Margaret  to  "  Lines"  of  his.  The  titles,  copied  from  the  table  of 
contents,  are  given  below.f     There  are  few  of  these  compositions 

•  Then  follow  on  the  next  page  these  lines : — 

TO    MAKGARET. 

If  this  small  offering  of  a  grateful  heart 

The  thrill  of  pleasure  to  thy  soul  impart. 

Or  teach  it  e'er  that  magic  charm  to  feel, 

Which  thy  tongue  knows  so  sweetly  to  reveal, 

Blessed  be  the  breathing  language  of  the  line 

That  spuaks  of  grace  and  virtues  such  as  thine; 

Blessed  be  those  hours,  when,  warmed  by  love  and  thee, 

I  poured  the  verse  in  tremblinsr  ecstasy  1 

Oh  that  the  music  which  these  lines  contain 

Flowed  like  the  murmurs  of  thy  holy  strain. 

When  thy  soft  voice,  clear-swelling,  loves  to  pour 

The  tones  of  feeling  in  her  pensive  hour,  etc. 
t  ContenU. — Poem  on  the  Immortality  of  the  Soul.  Henry  and  Helen;  a  Tale.  Caledonia,  or 
Highland  Scenery.  Versos  to  a  Lady  weeping  at  a  Tragedy.  The  Disturbed  Spirit;  a  Fragment. 
The  Song  of  the  Shipwrecked  Slave.  The  Prayer  of  the  Orphan.  The  Fate  of  Beauty.  Fi'elitig 
at  parting  from  a  beloved  object.  Lines  on  hearing  a  Lady  play  upon  the  Harp.  Anna;  a  Song. 
Love.  Florentine.  Parental  Affection.  Elegy  on  the  Death  of  Dr.  Lockhart.  Lines  suggested 
by  the  fate  of  Governor  Wall.  Lines  addressed  to  the  Glasgow  Volunteers.  Osmond;  an  imita- 
tion of  M.  G.  Lewi.s.  'I'lii-  Pains  of  Memory.  The  Sun  shines  bright,  etc.  I  know  some  peojilo 
ID  Uii-i  world,  etc     A  Wish.     'I'ln- Cliild  of  Misfortune.     Mary.     To  a  Lady  who  said  she  was  not 


LOVE    AND    POETKY.  37 

in  which  there  is  not  some  fond  allusion  to  the  lady  of  his  love,  and 
The  hlissful  hours  spent  by  her  side.  The  verses  are  often  coriinion- 
place  enough  ;  but  the  sentiments  are  never  other  than  refined. 
The  adoration  is  unmistakably  genuine,  and,  though  fervent,  re- 
spectful ;  tinged  with  a  sense  of  gratitude  that  touches  the  symija- 
thies  even  now.  Occasionally  the  strain  rises  above  mere  versitica- 
tion  into  something  of  real  poetry.  I  refer  to  this  collection  not 
because  of  its  literary  merits,  but  solely  on  account  of  its  relation 
to  his  "  Margaret,"  of  whom,  and  the  story  of  their  love,  more  au- 
thentic accounts  will  be  given  from  his  correspondence. 

From  these  gentle  occupations,  however,  Wilson  was  called 
away  to  new  scenes  and  pursuits,  fitted  to  bi'ing  forth  the  whole 
energies  of  his  manj^-sided  character,  but  not  of  power  enough  to 
deaden  in  his  heart  the  recollection  of  that  beloved  glen,  of  Both- 
well  Banks  and  Cruikstone's  lioary  walls,  of  Dychmont  Hill  and 
"  her  the  Orphan  Maid,  so  human  yet  so  visionary,"  that  made  their 
very  names  dear  to  him  forever. 

'•  Many-towered  Oxford"  now  summoned  the  young  scholar  away 
from  the  pleasant  companionship  of  his  Ghisgow  friends ;  an<],  in 
the  month  of  June,  1803,  he  entered  as  a  gentleman-commo::er  of 
Magdalen  College.  Full  of  life  and  enthusiasm,  tall,  strong,  and 
graceful,  quick-witted,  well-read,  and  eloquent,  of  open  heart  and 
open  liand,  apt  for  all  things  honorable  and  manly,  a  more  splendid 
youth  of  nineteen  had  seldom  entered  the  "  bell-chiming  and  clois- 
tered haunts  of  Rhedicyna."  The  eftect  produced  on  his  mind  by 
the  ancient  grandeurs  of  Oxford,  natui-ally  stimulated  his  poetical 
temperament  and  heightened  the  interest  of  every  study.  For 
there  hovered  constantly  around  him  suggestions  of  the  high  and 
solemn  ;  he  felt  that  he  was  in  an  abode  fit  for  great  men  and  sages, 
and  his  soul  was  elevated  by  the  contemplation  of  his  scholastic 
home.  Beautifully  does  he  recall  in  after  days  the  memory  of  that 
inspiring  time,  when,  in  the  fulness  of  hope  and  vigor,  the  fields  of 
the  futui'e  opened  out  before  him,  stretching  upwards  to  tie 
heights  of  fame,  a-glitter  in  the  dew  of  life's  morning  : — 

"For  having  bidden  farewell  to  our  sweet  native  Scotland,  and 

a  good  judge  of  Poetry.  Lines  written  at  Bothwell  Castle.  Lines  written  at  Cniikstone  Castle. 
Lines  written  in  Kenraore  Hermitage.  Lines  written  at  Evening.  Prince  Cliarles's  Address  to 
his  Army  before  the  Battle  of  Culloden.  Who  to  the  pomp  of  burnish'd  gold,  etc  Petition  of 
tile  .Mca"iis  Miiir.  Lines  written  in  a  glen  by  moonlight,  Answer  to  the  aUove  Lines.  The 
Fei  litigs  of  Love.    Thi^  Kureweii. 


do  MEMOIK    OF   JOUN    WILSON. 

kissed,  ere  we  parted,  the  grass  and  tlie  flowers  with  a  show  of 
filial  tears — havino-  bidden  farewell  to  all  her  glens,  now  a-glimmer 
in  the  blended  light  of  imagination  and  memory,  with  their  cairns 
and  kirks,  their  low-chimneyed  huts  and  their  high-turreted  halls, 
^heir  free-flowing  rivers  and  lochs  dashing  like  seas — we  were  all 
at  once  buried  not  in  the  Cimmerian  gloom,  but  the  cerulean  glit- 
ter, of  Oxford's  ancient  academic  groves.  The  genius  of  the  place 
fell  upon  us.  Yes !  we  hear  now,  in  the  renewed  delight  of  the 
awe  of  our  youtliful  spirit,  the  pealing  organ  in  that  chapel  called 
the  Beautiful ;  we  see  the  saints  on  the  stained  windows  ;  at  the 
altar  the  picture  of  one  up  Calvary  meekly  bearing  the  cross  !  It 
seemed,  then,  that  our  hearts  had  no  need  even  of  the  kindness  of 
kindred — of  the  country  where  we  were  born,  and  that  had  received 
the  continued  blessings  of  our  enlarging  love !  Yet  away  went,  even 
then,  sometimes  our  thoughts  to  Scotland,  like  carrier-pigeons  waft- 
ing love-messages  beneath  their  unwearied  Avings  !  They  went  and 
they  returned,  and  still  their  going  and  coming  was  blessed.  But  am- 
bition touched  us,  as  with  the  Avand  of  a  magician  from  a  vanished 
world  and  a  vanished  time.  The  Greek  tongue — multitudinous  as 
the  sea — kept  like  the  sea  sounding  in  our  ears,  through  the  still- 
ness of  that  world  of  towers  and  temj»les.  Lo !  Zeno,  with  his 
arguments  hard  and  high,  beneath  the  porch  !  Plato  divinely  dis- 
coursing in  grove  and  garden !  The  Stagvrite  searching  for  truth 
in  the  profounder  gloom  !  The  sweet  voice  of  the  smiling  Socrates, 
cheering  the  cloister's  shade  and  the  court's  sunshine  !  And  when 
the  thunders  of  Demosthenes  ceased,  we  heard  the  harping  of  the 
old  blind  glorious  Mendicant,  whom,  for  the  loss  of  eyes,  Apollo 
rewarded  with  the  gift  of  immortal  song  !  And  that  av  as  our  com- 
panionship of  the  dead  !"* 

Yet  these  new  feelings,  and  all  that  fascination  which  belongs  to 
novelty  in  "men  and  manners,"  could  not  efliace  the  image  of  his 
old  familiar  Scottish  home  ;  and  he  writes : — 

"  It  is  not  likely  that  I  will  ever  like  any  place  of  study,  that  I 
may  chance  to  live  in  again,  so  well  as  Glasgow  College.  Attach- 
ments formed  in  our  youth,  both  to  places  and  persons,  are  by  far 
the  strongest  that  we  ever  entertain. 

*'I  consider  GlasgoAV  College  as  my  mother,  and  I  have  almost  a 
son's  affection  for  her.     It  was  there  I  gathered  any  ideas  I  may 

•Oi«l  Norib  iiiid  Ymi'i:;  North,"  Wilson's  n'ori-i>_ 


LIFE    AT   OXFOKD.  39 

possess ;  it  was  there  I  entered  upon  the  first  pursuits  of  study 
thut  I  could  fully  understand  or  enjoy ;  it  was  there  I  formed  the 
first  binding  aud  eternal  friendships ;  in  short,  it  was  there  I  passed 
the  happiest  days  of  my  life. 

''  I  may  even  there  have  met  Avith  things  to  disturb  me,  but  that 
was  seldom  ;  and  I  would,  without  hesitation,  enter  into  an  agree- 
ment with  Providence,  that  my  future  life  should  be  as  happy  as 
those  days.  I  dare  say  I  left  Glasgow  at  the  time  I  should  have 
left  it ;  my  dearest  companions  had  either  gone  before  me,  or  were 
preparing  to  follow  me;  and  hud  I  stayed  another  year,  perhaps  my 
last  best  friends.  Miss  W.  and  Miss  M.,  would  not  have  been  in 
College  buildings  ;  in  that  case  I  might  as  Avell  have  been  at  Japan." 

In  this  honest  and  unaffected  language  may  be  traced  that  power 
of  local  attachment,  that  clothed  every  home  he  found  with  a  sacred 
interest,  interweaving  into  all  the  dreams  of  his  memoiy  associa- 
tions that  recalled  either  some  day  of  unalloyed  joy,  or  some  mo- 
ments of  sorrow,  hallowed  in  memory  with  the  "  tender  grace  of  a 
day  that  is  dead." 

Of  his  studies  and  manner  of  life  at  Oxford  I  have  no  very  mi- 
nute or  extensive  memorials.  That  he  was  a  hard  student  is  sufti- 
ciently  proved,  both  by  the  relics  of  his  industry  and  by  the  manner 
in  which  he  passed  his  final  examination.  That  he  also  tasted  of 
the  pleasures  and  diversions  open  to  a  lively  young  Oxonian,  pos- 
sessed of  abundant  resources,*  is  only  to  say  that  he  was  a  young 
man,  and  lived  at  Oxford  for  three  years  and  a  half.  But  the  gen- 
eral impression  that  he  led  what  is  called  a  "  fast  life,"  and  was  not 
a  reading  man,  is  by  no  means  correct.  His  wonderful  physical 
powers  gave  him  indeed  great  advantages,  enabling  hitn  to  overtake 
a  larger  amount  of  work  in  a  short  time  than  weaker  frames  could 
attempt,  and  to  recover  with  rapidity  the  loss  of  hours  spent  in  de- 
pressing gloom  or  hilarious  enjoyment.  But  with  all  his  unaffected 
relish  for  the  delights  of  sense,  his  was  a  soul  that  could  never 
linger  long  among  them,  without  making  them  "  stepping-stones  to 

*  llis  father  had  left  him  an  unencumbered  fortune  of  £50,000.  I  find  the  following  calculation 
in  one  of  his  memorandum-books,  apparently  made  soon  after  his  coming  to  Oxford : — "  Expenses 
necessary  for  an  Oxford  life  for  five  months  amount  to  about  £170;  that  doubled,  to  £340;  and 
for  the  other  two  months,  £50,  makes  £400  the  very  least  possible."  I  am  afraid  the  "  neccs- 
wry"  expenses  turned  out  to  be  very  far  short  of  the  actual.  The  book  contains  an  account 
of  expenditure  somewhere  up  to  the  month  of  October  1803,  amounting  to  about  £1.50,  which 
may  be  considered  moderate.  But  not  long  after  tlu re  occurs  this  significant  note : — "  I  find  that  1 
cannot  balance  my  accounts,  therefore  will  henceforth  keep  only  general  ones." 


40  MK.MOlIi    01-'    .K)IIN    WILSON. 

highcM-  tilings."  Many,  doubtless,  were  his  wild  pranks  and  jovial 
adventures,  and  for  a  brief  space,  as  we  shall  find,  he  gave  himself 
up,  in  the  agony  of  blighted  hopes,  to  "unbridled  dis>ipation,"  if 
BO  he  might  drown  the  memory  of  an  insupportable  grief.  All  such 
excess,  however,  was  alien  to  his  nature,  which  fi'om  childhood  to 
old  age,  preserved  that  freshness  and  purity  of  feeling  imparted  by 
Heaven  to  all  true  poets,  and  in  few  instances  utterly  lost. 

His  life  at  Magdalen  College,  and  his  arrangements  in  regard  to 
his  stutiies,  were  marked  by  the  same  attention  to  order  as  had  di- 
rected his  daily  course  when  in  Glasgow.  It  was  not  till  some  time 
after  he  had  left  Scotland,  that  the  agitation  of  harassing  thoughts 
caused  a  change  in  the  steadiness  of  his  habits,  leading  him  into 
strange  eccentricities  in  search  of  peace.  But  the  restlessness  and 
occasional  deep  depression  of  his  spirit  were  never  of  long  continu- 
ance, otherwise  the  result  might  have  been  destructive.  Fortu- 
nately, the  strength  and  buoyancy  of  his  nature  were  too  great  to 
be  overcome,  and  he  passed  naturally  from  one  condition  of  feeling 
to  another,  according  as  his  spirit  Avas  soothed  or  agitated  by  out- 
ward circumstances.  Thus,  in  the  midst  of  all  his  sorrows,  he  is 
found  throwing  himself  not  unfreqnently  into  the  full  tide  of  the 
life  that  surrounds  him,  as  if  he  had  no  other  thought ;  while  again 
he  springs  off  upon  some  distant  walk  that  takes  him  miles  away,  to 
seek  solace  in  the  solitude  of  the  valleys,  or  drown  care  among  the 
crowds  of  a  city.  Xotliing,  however,  damped  his  ardor  in  acquir- 
ing knowledge,  or  in  expressing  admiration  for  those  who  inspired 
it  by  their  writings.  The  heroes  he  worshipped  were  numerous ; 
and  those  he  loved  best  have  had  their  beauties  recorded  in  essays 
of  much  discriminating  power  and  taste. 

One  of  his  first  steps  for  methodizing  the  results  of  his  study,  and 
improving  his  mind,  was  the  commencement  of  a  commonplace- 
book,  a  valuable  exercise  which  he  had  already  begun  on  a  small 
scale  in  Glasgow,  probably  by  the  advice  of  Professor  Jardine.  Of 
these  commonplace-books  several  volumes  more  or  less  complete 
are  still  extant,  giving  evidence  of  an  industry  and  a  systematic 
habit  of  study  very  inconsistent  with  the  notion  that  the  writer  was 
an  idle  or  desultory  student.* 

•  "  Volome  I."  is  prefiiced  in  the  fnUowing  phiIoso))hic.'»l  style,  .1  few  dnys  after  his  arrival  in  Ox 
ford :  the  elabtinitc  plan  of  study  indicated  was  not.  of  course,  risidly  adhered  to : — 

"In  the  followins  ja;;es  I  propose-  to  make  such  remarks  upon  the  rarious  subjects  of  polite 
litei-alure  as  liavc  been  su^-ge*lod  to  my  mind  durins:  the  course  of  my  studies,  by  the  perusal  of 


LIFE    AT    OXFOliD.  41 

It  will  be  observed,  from  the  extracts  I  have  sul)joined,  that  he 
writes  of  the  manner  in  which  his  work  is  to  be  arranged  with  con- 
siderable confidence  ;  a  tone  observable  in  all  he  says,  not  the  result 
of  mere  youthful  self  complacency,  but  of  that  consciousness  of 
power  which  accompanies  genius,  quickened  by  the  freshness  of 
new  studies,  and  an  increasing  capacity  to  discern  and  appreciate 
the  beauties  and  difficulties  of  the  subjects  laid  before  him.  The 
various  compositions  resulthig  from  the  above  plan,  which  have 
been  preserved,  give  the  same  impression  of  easy  power  and  well- 
balanced  judgment,  combined  with  a  sensitiveness  keenly  alive  to 
delicacy  of  thought,  and  a  ready  sympathy  with  those  feelings  which 
are  excitetl  by  natural  causes.  Unlike  most  juvenile  essays,  they 
disj)lay  no  aftl'cted  or  maudlin  sentiment ;  there  is  no  exaggeration 
or  "  fine  writing  ;"  the  characteristic  qualities,  in  fact,  are  clearness 
and  sagacity,  the  true  foundations  of  good  criticism ;  forming,  in 
conjunction  with  wide  knowledge  and  sympathies,  the  beau-idCal^ 
afterwards  in  him  exemplified,  of  what  a  critic  should  be,  Avliose 
judgments  will  live  as  2xirts  of  literature,  and  not  merely  talk  about 
it.     As  an  example  of  the  qualities  now  indicated,  I  may  mention 

writers  upon  the  different  branches  of  hnman  knowledge;  reflections  upon  law,  history,  philoso- 
phy, theolosy.  and  poetry,  will  be  classed  under  sejiarate  heads;  and  if  my  inform.ition  upon  the 
useful  and  interesting  subject  of  political  econotny  can  be  reduced  to  any  short  discussi<ins  upon 
disputed  or  fundamental  principles,  or  to  a  collection  of  maxims,  such  as  form  the  groundwork  jf 
wider  inquiries,  observations  upon  the  different  theories  of  economists  will  form  part  of  n)y  pio- 
jected  plan.  In  followinp;  out  this  general  view,  it  will  frequently  happen  that  I  shall  have  ooca- 
sion  to  enter  fully  into  the  discussion  of  questions  that  have  been  merely  suggested  to  me  by  ibe 
allusion  of  authors;  and,  accordingly,  essays  of  some  length  will  constitute  a  considerable  part  jf 
my  plan. 

"  With  regard  to  the  department  of  poetry,  original  verses  of  my  own  composition  will  be  fre- 
quently introduced,  sometimes  with  the  view  to  illustrate  a  principle,  and  often  with  no  other  end 
than  self  gratification. 

"  If,  in  the  course  of  my  epistolary  correspondence,  any  interesting  subjects  of  literature  should 
be  discussed,  thoughts  thus  communicated  to  me  will  be  inserted  in  the  words  of  the  writer,  under 
the  head  to  which  they  may  belong,  and  accompanied  by  my  own  remarks  upon  them. 

"Should  any  reflections  upon  men  and  manners  occur  to  my  mind,  even  with  regard  to  tho 
general  characters  of  mankind,  or  tho  particuhir  dispositions  of  acquaintances  and  friends,  they 
shall  be  written  down  as  they  occur,  without  any  embellishment. 

"In  short,  this  commonplace-book,  or  whatever  else  it  may  be  called,  will  contain,  as  far  as  it 
goes,  a  faithful  representation  of  the  state  of  my  mind,  both  in  its  moments  of  study  and  retire- 
ment. I  will  endeavor  to  concentrate  the  different  radii  of  information  upon  literary  topics,  im- 
pressions with  regard  to  human  life,  and  feelings  of  my  own  heart,  in  cases  when  that  can  be  done 
with  good  effect.  In  referring  to  these  pictures  of  my  mind  at  ditl'erent  periods.  I  shall  be  .ible  to 
estimate  the  progress  I  have  made  in  intellectual  acquirements,  and  the  v.arious  changes  that  have 
taken  place  in  my  modes  of  thinking  and  feelins. 

"  I  shall  learn  to  know  myself.  In  future  times  it  will  be  ple.asing  to  behold  what  I  once  was. 
and  what  I  once  thought;  and  if  I  contemplate  the  acquirements  of  my  youth  with  any  thing  like 
contempt,  it  will,  I  trust,  proceed  from  a  conviction  of  real  superiority  and  virtue. 

"Magdalen  College,  </M7i<;  S,  1803." 


42  MEMOIR   OF   JOHN    WILSOX. 

an  e?say  out  of  the  first  of  these  two  commonplace-books,  "On  the 
Poetry  of  Drummond,"  showing  a  most  discriminating  a])preciation 
of  a  poet  whose  genius,  as  he  justly  says,  has  never  received  due 
acknowledgment.  This  essay  is  followed  by  a  very  elaborate  and 
ingenious  dissertation  on  the  question,  "  Why  have  the  Eg}'ptians 
never  been  remarkable  for  poetry  ?"  a  curious  question,  which,  so 
far  as  I  am  aware,  has  never  ibrmed  the  subject  of  special  observa- 
tion. A  considerable  portion  of  the  volume  is  occu}>ied  with  a 
translation  of  Sir  Wifliam  Jones's  Observations  on  Eastern  Poetry, 
and  of  the  specimens,  which  are  very  happily  rendered.  Under 
date  June  2'7th  is  the  sketch  of  a  proposed  poem  on  the  flight  of 
the  Israelites  out  of  Egypt,  wliich  dues  not  appear,  however,  to 
have  l»een  entered  on.  A  volume  seems  to  have  been  set  aside  for 
each  of  the  chief  branches  of  study,  which  from  time  to  time  en- 
gaged his  attention.  Some  of  these  are  probably  lost ;  and  those 
•which  remain  want  a  good  many  leaves  in  some  places.  One  bears 
the  heading  Law,  and  contains  a  survey  of  the  municipal  law  of 
England,  apparently  founded  on  Blackstone.  Another  is  headed 
Theology,  and  contains  a  careful  review  and  summary  of  the  evi- 
dences of  Christianity,  based  on  the  study  of  Paley.  Another  was 
intended  for  History,  but  contains,  besides  some  general  observa- 
tions on  the  study  of  History,  only  an  essay  "concerning  Ireland." 
Another,  devoted  to  his  miscellaneous  subjects,  contains  a  consider- 
able number  of  essays  and  reflections,  some  pretty  elaborate,  and 
displaying  a  remarkable  grasp  and  comprehensiveness  of  mind  as 
well  as  vivacity  and  grace  of  style.  The  following  are  some  of  the 
subjects  treated  of:  The  Fear  of  Death  ;  Female  Beauty  ;  Dissipa- 
tion ;  Chastity ;  Rehgious  Worship  ;  The  Old  Ballad  Mania  ;  The 
Edinburgh  Review  ;  The  Study  of  History ;  The  Xeglect  of  Genius 
in  Britain;  The  Present  State  of  Europe;  Longinus  as  a  Crhic  ; 
The  Tendency  of  Little's  Poems  ;  Duelling  ;  Modern  Poetry  ;  The 
Martial  Character  of  the  Danes  ;  The  Decline  of  the  Moorish  Power 
in  Spain  ;  The  Influence  of  Climate.  These  interesting  volumes  in- 
dicate altogether  a  very  extensive  range  of  study,  and  thorough 
mastery  of  particular  topics.  It  must  be  remembered,  too,  that 
these  were  but  the  occasional  exercises  which  filled  up  the  intervals 
of  a  complete  and  successful  course  of  classical  study.  The  various 
poetical  eflJusions  and  sketches  for  proposed  poems,  with  which  some 
of  tlie  volumes  are  to  a  great  extent  filled^  belong  manifestly  to  a 


LIFK    AT    OXFORD.  43 

later  period.  The  most  important  among  these  are  the  original 
draught  of  several  cantos  of  the  "Isle  of  Palms,"  which  will  call  for 
due  notice  in  a  subsequent  chapter. 

The  choice  of  friends  is  one  of  those  things  wliich  most  biing  out 
a  man's  character  and  power  of  discrimination.  On  this  topic  I  find 
the  following  sentences  addressed  to  Margaret: — 

" is  a  being  in  whom  I  have  been  most  grievously  disap- 
pointed. When  I  was  first  introduced  to  him,  I  was  prejudiced  in 
his  favor,  for  three  reasons  : — First,  He  was  grave,  and  did  not  take 
great  part  in  the  conversation,  which  turned  chiefly  upon  dogs  and 
horses !  secondly.  He  was,  as  I  thought,  something  hke  Alexander 
Blair  ;  and,  thirdly,  I  was  informed  he  studied  a  great  deal.  I  accord- 
ingly thought  that  I  had  fallen  upon  a  good  companion.  For  some 
time  I  believed  that  I  had  formed  a  right  judgment,  thought  him  a 
Bensible  fellow,  and,  from  obscure  hiuts  that  he  dropped,  took  it  into 
my  head  that  he  was  a  poet.  Having,  however,  one  day  got  into 
an  argument  with  him  concerning  the  meaning  of  a  line  in  Homer,  I 
observed  an  ignorance  in  him  which  I  w'as  sorry  for,  and  a  degree  of 
stupid  obstinacy  that  I  despised.  This  passed ;  and  speakmg  one  day 
of  the  Prince,  commonly  called  the  'Pretender,'  he  thought  proper 
to  remark  that  his  title  to  the  throne  was  no  greater  than  mine. 

"  With  this  I  did  not  altogether  agree,  and  having  stated  ray 
reasons  for  dissenting  from  him,  discovered  that  he  was  entirely 
ignorant  of  the  history  of  his  own  country.  Ignorance  so  gross  as 
this  is  at  all  times  pitiable,  but  more  so  Avhen  disguised  under  pre- 
tended knowledge.  I  accordingly  gradually  withdrew  from  his 
acquaintance,  always  preserving  strict  civility  and  politeness.  At 
last,  having  judged  it  proper  to  be  witty  towards  me,  I  wrote  an 
epigram  upon  him,  which  it  seems  he  did  not  like  ;  so  he  now  keeps 
a  very  respectful  distance.  He  is  a  com])ound  of  good-nature,  obsti- 
nacy, ignorance,  honor,  and  conceit,  but  the  bad  ingredients  are 
strongest." 

The  next  portrait  is  of  a  more  pleasing  nature : — 

" is  a  youth  of  such  reserved  manners,  that  although  I  was 

first  introduced  to  him,  I  scarcely  spoke  twenty  w^ords  to  him  to 
which  I  received  any  other  answer  than  Yes,  or  No,  for  the  first 
twenty  days.    Now,  I  know  him  rather  better,  and  begin  to  like  him. 

"  He  sometimes  condescends  to  laugh  at  a  joke,  but  never  to  make 
one.     He  is  a  very  clos^  student,  and  I  believe  the  first  scholar  in 


44  MEMOm   OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

the  College  among  the  gentlemen-commoners.  His  fatlier  is  the 
best  Greek  scholar  in  England,  and  I  have  given  tiiis  youth  the  sur- 
name of  Sophocles,  a  famous  Greek  tragedian.  He  has  a  taste  for 
the  Fine  Arts,  and  paints,  and  plays  upon  the  piano;  but  he  is  the 
worst  hand  at  both  I  ever  saw  or  heard.  He  is  good-natured,  and 
a  gentleman." 

Another  still  more  genial  companion  is  spoken  of  in  the  same 
letter: — 

" is  a  young  man  of  large  fortune,  and  still  larger  prospects, 

so  he  does  not  think  it  worth  his  while  to  study  much ;  but  he  is 
naturally  very  clever ;  is  an  elegant  classical  scholar,  writes  goo<l 
verses,  and  has  very  amiable  dispositions.  He  lives  in  the  same 
stair  with  me,  so  we  are  often  together,  and  I  am  very  fond  of  him. 
His  cousin  is  also  a  clever  fellow,  has  lived  long  in  dashing  life  in 
London,  and  is  intimate  with  Kinnaird,  Lamb,  Lewis,  Moore,  and 
other  wits  in  London;  'a  merrier  man,  within  the  hmits  of  becom- 
ing mirth,  I  never  spent  an  houi's  talk  withal.'  He  delights  in 
quizzical  verses,  and  we  are  writing  together  a  poem  called  Magda- 
len College^  which,  should  we  ever  complete,  I  will  send  to  you." 

The  journal  breaks  off  here,  and  we  find  no  more  such  familiar 
sketches  of  "  men  and  manners,"  but  more  serious  matter,  for  what- 
ever bears  upon  work  is  treated  with  earnest  respect.  His  obviously 
methodical  study  obtained  for  him  that  cleaniess  of  perception  and 
correctness  of  knowledge,  without  which  no  mind  perfectly  per- 
forms its  work.  Accuracy  may  in  foct  be  called  the  foundation  and 
the  stronghold  of  all  properly  directed  mental  energy.  There  is  no 
faidt  more  common  than  want  of  accuracy,  and  none  that  might  be 
so  easily  cured.  Great  intellect  never  has  it,  though  cleverness  may ; 
and  there  was  no  fault  of  which  my  father  was  more  intolerant.  He 
often  used  to  say  to  his  children,  in  a  spirit  of  fun,  "You  know  lam 
never  wrong  ?  Whatever  I  state  is  correct ;  whatever  I  say  is  right." 
It  was  truly  the  case  with  regard  to  his  information. 

The  early  efforts  of  genius  are  always  interesting,  and  in  his  case 
they  are  enhanced  in  value,  Avhen  it  is  considered  with  what  they 
were  combined.  Very  rarely  does  it  happen  that  the  same  individ- 
ual possesses  an  equal  proportion  of  mental  and  bodily  activity,  of 
intellect  and  imagination ;  and  the  seductions  that  lie  in  the  way  of 
a  youth  so  gifted,  whose  path  of  life  is  smoothed  by  fortune,  nmst 
be  taken  into  account  in  estimating  the  use  made  of  his  powers.    No 


I.IFE    AT     OXFORD.  45 

doubt  conscious  strength  is  in  itself  a  spur  to  high  achievements, 
and  tlie  enviable  possession  of  great  gifts  of  mind  and  body  gives,  as 
it  were,  two  lives,  fitting  a  man  for  a  Titan's  work.  It  was  this  com-- 
bination  of  gifts  that  made  Wilson  singular  among  the  men  of  his 
time  ;  and  the  preservation  of  their  harmony  was  proof  that,  amid 
the  various  influences  tending  to  overthrow  the  balance,  a  healthy 
moral  nature  reigned  supreme.  The  hard-working  intellect  was  not 
led  astray  by  the  fertile  imagination ;  the  indefatigable  bodily  energy 
and  exuberant  sportiveness  were  still  subservient  to  reason  ;  and  all 
worked  healthily  together,  despite  the  recurring  gloom  of  cheerless 
days,  and  the  restless  wanderings  that  hardly  brought  repose. 

Judged  by  his  poems  alone,  Wilson  Avas  to  be  classed  with  the 
most  refined  and  sensitive  of  idealists  ;  tested  by  some  of  his  prose 
writings  and  his  professional  reputation,  he  was  one  of  the  most 
acute  and  eloquent  of  moralists.  That  such  a  man  should  have  de- 
lighted in  angling  and  in  boating,  in  walking,  running,  and  leaping, 
is  not  extraordinary ;  but  that  he  shoidd  also  have  practically  en- 
couraged and  greatly  enjoyed  the  ruder  pastimes  of  wrestling,  box- 
ing, and  cock-fighting,  may  a})pear  to  some  people  anomalous.  For 
the  notion  is  not  yet  wholly  extinct,  that  a  poet  shoidd  be  a  delicate 
and  dreamy  being,  all  heart  and  nerves,  and  certainly  destitute  of 
muscles;  while  the  })hil()sopher  is  held  bound  to  be  solemn  and  dys- 
peptic, dwelling  in  a  region  of  clouds  remote  from  all  the  business 
and  pleasures  of  men.  It  is  unnecessary,  I  presume,  to  show  the 
absurdity  of  such  views.  But  neither  is  it  necessary  to  say  a  word 
in  favor  of  the  cock-pit  or  the  prize-ring.  Suffice  it,  that  at  the  time 
when  my  fother  studied  at  Oxford,  there  were  few  young  gentle, 
men,  with  any  pretensions  to  maidiness,  by  whom  these  now  pro- 
scribed amusements  were  not  zealotisly  ])atronized.  The  fashions 
change  with  the  generations,  and  the  fox-hunter  may  ere  long  be 
considered  a  barbarian,  and  the  deer-stalker  a  kind  of  assassin.  Cer- 
tain it  is,  that  literary  men  do  not  now  patronize  cock-fighting,  and 
the  world  would  probably  be  scandalized  to  hear  of  Mr.  Dickens 
inviting  a  party  of  friends  to  "  a  main."*     Yet  about  this  time  there 

♦  Althouch  it  has  been  said  that  the  saje  and  refined  Henry  Mackenzie  did  not  consider  it  in 
consistent  with  his  character  to  patronize  this  amusement,  I  must  omit  his  name  from  the  num- 
ber. Ue  was  very  fond  of  field-sports,  but  I  am  assured,  on  the  best  authority,  that  there  is  not 
a  word  of  truth  in  the  tradition,  nor  in  the  following  capital  story,  quoted  from  Burir<>n"s  Life  of 

Ti/tler : — "Drinking  tea  there  (at  Woodhousclee)  one  evening,  we  waited  some  time  for  Mr.  Mac- 
kenzie's appearance ;  he  came  in  at  last,  heated  and  excited  :  '  What  a  glorious  evening  I  have  had  1' 

We  thought  he  spoke  of  the  weather,  which  was  beautiful;  but  he  went  on  to  detiiil  the  iiilenBe  ea- 


t 


46  MEMOIR    OF   JOHN    AVILSOX. 

was  a  regular  cock -pit  in  Edinburgh,  patronized  by  "  many  gentle- 
men still  alive,"  says  the  editor  of  Kay's  Biographical  Sketches 
in  1842,  who  would  not,  perhaps,  relish  being  reminded  of  "their 
early  passion  for  the  birds.''*  John  Wilson  was  a  keen  patron  of 
this  exciting,  though,  to  our  eyes,  cruel  amusement;  so  much  so, 
that  at  EUeray  he  kept,  as  we  shall  presently  find,  a  most  extensive 
establishment  of  cocks,  whose  training  and  destinies  evidently  occu- 
pied no  small  share  of  his  attention.  "While  unable  to  appreciate 
fully  the  merits  of  this  ancient  but  now  almost  extinct  amusement, 
I  would  observe  that,  in  his  case,  the  mere  pleasure  in  the  exhibi- 
tion of  animal  courage  was  connected  with  a  more  deep  and  com- 
prehensive delight  in  the  animals  themselves.  For,  from  those 
earliest  days,  when  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  peaseweeps  in  the 
midst  of  lightning  and  rain,  he  had  been  a  keen  observer  of  the 
habits  of  all  kinds  of  birds ;  and  he  never  ceased  to  take  a  special 
interest  m  them  and  their  ways.  I  Avould  also  remark,  that  even 
in  those  years  of  student  life,  when  he  mixed  with  all  sorts  of  com- 
pany, and  took  his  pleasure  from  the  most  diversified  sources,  the 
study  of  human  nature  was  truly  a  great  part  of  his  enjoyment.  He 
went  among  the  various  grades  of  men  and  character  much  as  a 
geologist  goes  peering  among  the  strata  of  the  earth  ;  and  as  a  nat- 
uralist is  not  blamed  who  has  his  pet  beasts  and  insects,  to  us  repul- 
sive, so  perhaps  may  such  a  student  of  men  and  their  manners  be 
rightly  fulfilling  his  vocation,  even  when  he  descends  to  occasional 
companionship  with  the  stranger  types  of  humanity. 

Of  his  pugilistic  skill,  it  is  said  by  Mr.  De  Quincey,  that  "  there 
was  no  man  who  had  any  talents,  real  or  fancied,  for  thumping  or 
being  thumped,  but  he  had  experienced  some  preeing  of  his  merits 
from  Mr.  Wilson.  All  other  pretensions  in  the  gymnastic  arts  he 
took  a  pride  in  humbling  or  in  honoring ;  but  chiefly  his  'examina- 
tions fell  upon  pugilism ;  and  not  a  man,  who  could  either  '  give'  or 
'take,'  but  boasted  to  have  punished,  or  to  have  been  punished  by 
Wilson  of  Mallen'sr\ 

One  anecdote  may  suflSce  in  illustration  of  this  subject,  ha\'ing,  I 

joyment  he  had  had  in  a  cock-fi^ht.  Mrs.  Mackenzie  listened  some  time  in  silence ;  then  looking  up 
!n  his  face,  she  exclaimed  in  her  gentle  voice,  '  Oh.  Harry,  Harry,  your  feelins  is  all  on  jiaptr  I' "' 

*  A  few  years  earlier  a  '  main"  was  fought  in  the  kitchen  of  the  Assembly  Rooms,  then  nn- 
finished,  between  the  counties  of  Lanark  and  Haddington,  of  which  Kay  gives  av'vid  picture,— 
photowaphing  the  better  known  cockers  who  were  present  on  the  occasion. 

t  Edinburgh  Literary  Gazette,  vol.  i.,  No.  6 


LIFK   AT    OXFORD. 


47 


believe,  the  merit  of  being  true.  Meeting  one  day  with  a  rough  and 
unruly  wayfarer,  who  showed  inclination  to  pick  a  quarrel,  concern- 
ing right  of  passage  across  a  certain  bridge,  the  fellow  obstructed 
the  way,  and  making  himself  decidedly  obnoxious,  Wilson  lost  all 
patience,  and  ofiered  to  fight  him.  The  man  made  no  objection  to 
the  proposal,  but  repHed  that  he  had  better  not  fight  with  him^  as 
he  was  so  and  so,  mentioning  the  name  of  a  (then  not  unknown) 
pugilist.  This  statement  had,  as  may  be  supposed,  no  efiect  in 
damping  the  belligerent  intentions  of  the  Oxonian ;  he  knew  his  own 
strength,  and  his  skill  too.  In  one  moment  off  went  his  coat,  and 
he  set  to  upon  his  antagonist  in  splendid  style.  The  astonished  and 
punished  rival,  on  recovering  from  his  blows  and  surprise,  accosted 
him  thus :  "You  can  only  be  one  of  the  two ;  you  are  either  Jack 
Wilsoa  or  the  Devil."  This  encounter,  no  doubt,  led,  for  a  short 
time,  to  fraternity  and  equality  over  a  pot  of  porter. 

His  attainments  as  a  leaper  were  more  remarkable.  For  this 
exercise  he  had,  in  the  words  of  the  writer  already  quoted,  "  two 
remarkable  advantages.  A  short  trunk  and  remarkably  long  legs 
gave  him  one-half  his  advantage  in  the  noble  science  of  leaping ;  the 
other  half  was  pointed  out  to  me  by  an  accurate  critic  in  these  mat- 
ters, as  lying  in  the  particular  conformation  of  his  foot,  the  instep 
of  which  is  arched,  and  the  back  of  the  heel  strengthened  in  so  re- 
markable a  way,  that  it  would  be  worth  paying  a  penny  for  a  sight 
of  them."  After  referring  to  the  boastful  vanity  of  the  celebrated 
Cardinal  du  Perron  on  this  point,  he  adds : — "  The  Cardinal,  by  his 
own  account,  appears  to  have  been  the  flower  of  Popish  leapers ; 
and,  with  all  deference  to  his  Eminence,  upon  a  better  assurance 
than  that.  Professor  Wilson  may  be  rated,  at  the  time  I  speak  of,  as 
the  flower  of  all  Protestant  leapers.  Not  having  the  Cardinal's 
foible  of  connecting  any  vanity  with  this  little  accomplishment, 
knowing  exactly  what  could,  and  what  could  not  be  eftccted  in  this 
department  of  gymnastics,  and  s})eaking  with  the  utmost  simplicity 
and  candor  of  his  failures  and  his  successes  alike,  he  might  always 
be  relied  upon,  and  his  statements  were  constantly  in  harmony  with 
any  collateral  testimony  that  chance  hapjiened  to  turn  up." 

His  most  remarkable  feat  of  this  kitid,  the  fime  of  which  still 
lingers  round  the  spot  where  it  took  place,  is  thus  referred  to  by 
himself: — "A  hundred  sovereigns  to  five  against  any  man  in  Eng- 
land doing  twenty-three  feet  on  a  dead  level,  with  a  run  and  a  leap 


48  MEMOIR   OF  JOHN    WILSON. 

on  a  slightly  inclined  plane,  perhaps  an  inch  to  a  yard.  We  have 
seen  twenty-three  feet  done  in  great  style,  and  measured  to  a  nicety, 
but  the  man  who  did  it  (aged  twenty-one,  height,  live  feet  eleven 
inches,  weight,  eleven  stone)  was  ailmitted  to  be  (Ireland  excepted) 
the  best  far  leapcr  of  his  day  in  England."* 

This  achievement,  worthy  of  one  of  Dr.  Dasent's  favorite  heroes, 
took  place  in  the  presence  of  many  spectators,  at  a  bend  of  the  Cher- 
well,  a  tributary  of  the  Isis,  where  it  glides  beautifully  through  the 
enamelled  meads  of  Christ  Church,  the  leap  being  taken  across  the 
stream. 

To  one  so  full  of  life,  and  of  the  enjoyment  of  it  in  its  various 
phases,  Oxford  was  prolific  ground  for  the  exercise  of  his  vivacious 
spirit ;  and  it  will  naturally  be  expected  that,  in  connection  with  this 
period,  there  are  many  curious  stories  to  unfold.  But  the  flight  of 
years  soon  obliterates  the  traces  of  past  adventures;  very  few  of 
the  contemporaries  of  those  pleasant  days  survive;  and  I  am  sorry, 
therefore,  to  say,  that  I  have  been  able  to  gather  but  few  authentic 
details  regarding  this  portion  of  my  father's  life.  Every  one  knows 
how  a  story,  when  it  has  passed  from  its  original  source,  is,  in  an 
incredibly  short  space  of  time,  so  metamorphosed,  as  not  again  to 
be  recognizable;  complexion,  manner,  matter,  all  changed — just  as 
if  loving  and  making  a  lie  were  a  matter  of  duty.  Sensible  persons, 
too,  are  sometimes  found  credulous  of  strange  tales ;  while  the 
world  in  general  is  ever  ready  to  pick  up  the  veriest  rubl>isli,  and 
comjilacently  exclaim,  "  How  characteristic  ;  so  like  the  man."  Few 
men  have  had  more  fables  thus  circulated  I'egardiug  them  than  my 
father.  Perhaps  the  most  foolish  story  that  v/as  ever  told  of  him, 
is  one  that  William  and  Mary  Howitt  allude  to  with  wise  in- 
credulity, in  their  pleasant  yet  somewhat  incorrect  memorial  of  him, 
and  which  now,  to  the  disappointment  of  not  a  few,  must  be  denied 
in  toto.  It  Avas  said  that,  when  wandering  in  Wales,  he  joined  a 
gang  of  gipsies,  and  married  a  girl  belonging  to  that  nomade  tribe, 
and  lived  with  her  for  some  time  among  the  mountains.  That  he 
had  acted  along  with  strolling  players,  and  that  there  was  one  com- 
pany to  which  he  was  kind  and  generous,  is  quite  true;  but  that  he 
lived  with  them,  or  any  other  adventurers,  is  iuere  romance,  "the 
baseless  fabric  of  a  vision." 

A  journal  of  his  Avanderings  through  Wales  and  the  south  of 

*  "  Essay  on  Gymnastics  " 


LIFE    AT    OXFuRI). 


49 


England,  the  Lake  District,  the  HighLancls,  and  Ireland,  would  have 
been  more  amusing  than  most  books  of  travel,  for  we  have  his  own 
word  for  it  that  they  were  sometimes  "full  of  adventure  and  .scraj>e." 
But  of  these  journeys  he  kept  no  record,  and  all  that  can  now  be 
gleaned  is  an  incidental  allusion  here  and  there  in  his  works.* 

The  circle  of  his  acquaintance  at  Oxfoi-d  was  most  extensive, 
from  the  learned  President  of  his  College,  Dr.  Kouth,  with  whom, 
as  De  Quincey  says,  "he  enjoyed  an  unlimited  favor,"  down  through 
"  an  infinite  gamut  of  friends  and  associates,  running  through  every 
key,  the  diapason  closing  full  in  groom,  cobbler,  and  stable-boy." 
But  though  a  universal  favorite,  his  circle  of  intimate  friends  was 
more  select.  Among  these  were  Mr.  Home  Drummond  (of  Blair- 
Drummond),  Mr.  Charles  Parr  Burney,  Reginald  Ileber ;  Mr.  Sib- 
thorpe,  brother  of  the  late  Colonel  Sibthorpe;  Mr.  N.  Ellison,  Mr. 
Charles  Edward  Grey.  None  of  these  gentlemen  Avas  of  his  own 
college. 

An  anecdote  may  here  be  given,  illustrating  a  somewhat  unusual 
mode  of  shutting  up  a  proctor.  One  evening  one  of  these  important 
functionaries  was  aroused  to  the  exercise  of  his  authority  V)y  a  con- 
siderable noise  in  the  High  Street.  Coming  forth  to  challenge  the 
authors  of  the  unlawful  uproar,  he  found  that  "  Wilson  of  JVIagda- 
len's"  was  tlie  prime  author  of  the  disturbance.  Remonstrance  and 
warning  were  alike  thrown  away  on  the  indomitable  youth  ;  he  had 
put  on  his  "boldest  suit  of  mirth,  for  he  had  fi-iends  that  i)urposed 
merriment."  Nothing  could  be  made  of  him.  In  vain  the  proctor 
advanced ;  he  was  received  with  speeches,  and  a  perfect  flood  of 
words.  The  idea  of  repose  was  flouted  by  this  incorrigible  youth. 
Still  the  proctor  protested,  xmtil  he  was  fairly  driven  away  by  Wil- 
son repeating  to  him,  with  imperturbable  gravity,  nearly  the  whole 
of  Pope's  "  Essay  on  Man." 

I  am  glad  to  be  able  to  make  up,  in  some  respects,  for  the  meagre- 
ness  of  these  outlines,  by  some  very  interesting  reminiscences  kindly 
furnished  by  one  who  truly  says,  that  he  is  "  perhaps  the  only  per- 

*"'7'/te  Tipperary  shillelaglis  came  tumhling  about  his  nob  as  thick  as  ffrass.''  This  is  a 
sweet  iiustonil  iuiasrc,  wliich  we  ourselves  (dice  lie:ii-<l  eniiiloyed  by  a  very  delicate  aiul  modest 
youiiLj  woman  in  a  cottage  near  Limerick,  when  speakin;;  of  the  cml^'els  in  an  atl'ray.  A  brokeu 
head  is  in  Ireland  always  spoken  of  in  terms  of  endearment;  much  of  the  same  tender  feel- 
ing is  naturally  transferred  to  the  shillelai.'h  th;it  inllieted  it.  'Ood  bless  your  honor  1'  said 
the  same  gentle  creature  to  us  while  castins  an  atVeclionatc  look  of  admiration  on  our  walk- 
lug-sMck.    '  YouivotUd  gice  a  sicute  blow  with  it.^  " — Blackioood,  vol.  v.,  p.  OCT. 


50  MEMOIR   OF   JOHN    "SVILSON. 

son  now  living  wlio  could  give  so  many  details  at  the  end  of  half  & 
century." 

"  I  became  acquainted  with  the  late  Professor  "Wilson  at  Magda- 
len College,  Oxford,  about  the  year  1807  or  1808.  He  had  ah-eady 
graduated,  taken  even  (as  I  best  recollect)  his  Master's  degree, 
when  I  entered  that  College  as  a  gentleman-commoner.  His  per- 
sonal appearance  was  very  remarkable  ;  he  was  a  powerfully  built 
man,  of  great  muscular  strength,  about  five  feet  ten  inches  high,  a 
very  broad  chest,  wearing  a  great  profusion  of  hair  and  enormous 
whiskers,  which  in  those  days  were  very  unusually  seen,  particu- 
larly in  the  University.  He  was  considered  the  strongest,  most 
athletic,  and  most  active  man  of  those  days  at  Oxford  ;  and  certainly 
created  more  interest  among  the  gownsmen  than  any  of  his  contem- 
poraries, having  already  greatly  distinguished  himself  in  the  schools, 
and  as  a  poet. 

'•  The  difference  of  our  standing  in  the  College,  as  well  as  of  our 
ages  and  pursuits,  did  not  allow  of  our  forming  any  close  intimacy, 
and  we  seldom  met  but  in  our  common  room,  to  which  the  gentle- 
men-commoners retired  from  the  dining-hall  for  wine  and  desse  t, 
to  spend  the  evening,  and  to  sup,  etc. 

"  I  am  not  able  to  say  who  ^^•ere  "Wilson's  intimates  in  the  Uni- 
versity ;  he  certainly  had  none  in  the  College.  I  rather  think  he 
was  much  with  Mr.  Gaisford,  the  celebrated  Grecian.  I  think  of 
our  men,  ^Ir.  Edward  Synge,  of  the  county  of  Clare,  saw  the  most 
of  him.  The  fact  is  we  were  all  pi jjinies,  both  physically  and  men- 
tally, to  him.  and  therefore  iinsuited  to  general  companionship.  It 
was  therefore  in  the  convi\'iality  of  our  common  room,  to  which 
Wilson  so  much  contributed,  and  which  he  so  thoroughly  himself 
enjoyed,  that  we  had  the  opportunity  of  appreciating  this  (even 
then)  extraordinarily  gifted  man,  who  combined  the  simpliciiy  of 
a  child  with  the  learnmg  of  a  sage.  He  was  sometimes,  but 
rarely,  silent,  abstracted  for  a  time,  which  I  attributed  to  his 
mind  being  then  occupied  with  composition.  He  never  seemed 
unhappy. 

"It  was  the  habit  and  f:\shion  of  those  days  to  drink  what  would 
now  be  considered  freely ;  the  observance  was  not  neglected  at 
Maudlin^  though  never  carried  to  excess.  Wilson's  great  conversa- 
tional powers  were  drawn  out  during  these  social  hours.  Pie  de- 
lighted in  discussions,  and  would  often  advance  paradoxes,  even  in 


LIFE    AT    OXtX)lil).  61 

order  to  raise  a  debate.  It  was  evident  that  (like  Dr.  Johnson)  he  had 
not  determined  which  side  of  the  argument  he  would  take  upon  the 
question  he  had  raised.  Once  he  had  decided  that  point,  he  opened 
with  a  flow  of  eloquence,  learning,  and  wit,  which  became  gradually 
an  absolute  torrent,  upon  which  he  generally  tided  into  the  small 
hours.  No  interruption,  no  difference  of  opinion,  however  warmly 
expressed,  could  ruffle  fur  a  moment  his  imperturbable  good  temper. 
He  was  certainly  one  of  the  most  charming  social  conn)anions  it  has 
ever  been  my  lot  to  meet,  although  I  have  known  some  of  the  most 
agreeable  and  witty  that  Ireland  has  produced.  There  was  a  ver- 
satility of  talent  and  eloquence  {ixot  of  opinions)  in  Wilson,  such  as 
I  have  never  seen  equalled.  I  have  heard  him  with  equal  cleverness 
argue  in  favor  and  disparagement  of  constitutional,  absolute,  and 
democratic  forms  of  government ;  one  evening  you  would  suppose 
him  to  be  {as  he  really  teas)  a  most  determined,  unbending  Tory; 
the  next  he  assumed  to  be  a  thorough  Whig  of  the  old  school  ;  on 
a  third,  you  would  conclude  him  to  be  a  violent  and  dangerous 
democrat !  You  could  never  suppose  that  the  same  man  could 
uphold  and  decry,  with  equal  talent,  propositions  so  opposite:  and 
yet  he  did,  and  was  equally  persuasive  and  conclusive  upon  each. 
In  the  same  manner  with  religious  discussions :  to-day  there  could 
be  no  more  energetic  and  able  '  defender  of  the  faith  ;'  to-morrow 
he  would  advance  Voltaireism,  Hobbism,  and  Gibbonism  enough  to 
induce  those  who  did  not  know  him  to  conclude  that  lie  was  a 
thorough  unbeliever.  He  was,  on  the  contrary,  of  a  higlily  pioi:8 
and  religious  mind.  I  may  sura  up  his  cliaracteristics,  as  they  ap- 
peared to  me,  in  a  few  words:  simplicity,  kin<lness,  learning,  with 
chivalry ;  for  certainly  his  views  and  sentiments  were  highly  chiv- 
alrous, and  had  he  lived  in  those  days,  he  Avould  have  been  found 
among  the  foremost  of  'les  preux  chevaliers.' 

"The  established  rule  of  our  common  room  was,  that  no  one 
should  appear  there  without  being  in  full  evening  dress :  non-com- 
pliance involved  a  fine  of  one  guinea,  which  Wilson  had  more  than 
once  incurred  and  paid.  Having  one  day  come  in  in  his  morning 
garb,  and  paid  down  the  fine,  he  asked,  '  What  then  do  you  con- 
Bider  dress?'  '  Silk  stockings,'  etc.,  etc.,  was  the  answer.  Tlie  next 
day  came  Wilson,  looking  very  well  satisfied  with  himself,  and  with 
us  all.  '  Now,'  he  cried,  '  all  is  right,  I  hope  to  have  no  more  fines 
to  pay  ;  you  see  I  have  complied  with  the   rules,'  pointing  to  hia 


52  MEMom  OF  joirs"  wilsox. 

silk  stockinfjs,  which  he  had  very  carefully  draxcn  over  the  coarse 
-woollen  walking  stockings  which  he  wore  usually ;  his  strong  shoes 
he  still  retained ! 

"  He  told  us  one  evening  that  he  imagined  he  had  a  taste  for,  and 
might  become  proficient  in  music,  and  tliat  he  would  commence  to 
practise  the  French  horn  !  Mhich  he  did  accordingly,  connnencing 
after  we  had  broken  up  for  the  night,  which  was  generally  long  after 
twelve.  Some  days  after,  old  Dr.  Jenner,  one  of  the  Fellows,  ac- 
costed me  with  piteous  tones  and  countenance :  '  Oh,  Southwell !  do, 
for  pity's  sake,  use  your  influence  with  TTilson  to  choose  some 
other  time  for  his  music-lessons  ;  I  never  get  a  wink  of  sleep  after 
he  commences  !'  I  accordingly  spoke  to  him  ;  he  seemed  quite  sur- 
prised that  his  dulcet  notes  could  have  disturbed  his  neighbors  ; 
but  he  was  too  good-natured  to  persevere,  and,  as  far  as  I  know, 
his  musical  talents  were  no  further  cultivated.  Being  a  Master  of 
Arts,  he  was  no  longer  subject  to  college  discipline,  and  might 
have,  if  he  wished,  accompanied  his  horn  with  a  big  drum  !  One 
of  his  great  amusements  was  to  go  to  the  'Angel  Inn,'  about  mid- 
night, when  many  of  the  up  and  down  London  coaches  met ;  there 
he  used  to  preside  at  the  passengers'  supper-table,  carving  for  them, 
mquiring  all  about  their  respective  journeys,  wliy  and  wherefore 
they  were  made,  who  they  were,  etc. ;  and  in  return,  astonishing 
them  with  his  wit  and  pleasantry,  and  sending  them  off  wondering 
who  and  ichat  he  could  he!  He  frequently  went  from  the  'Angel' 
to  the  '  Fox  and  Goose,'  an  early  '  purl  and  gill'  house,  where  he 
found  the  coachman  and  guards,  etc.,  preparing  for  the  coaches 
which  had  left  London  late  at  night ;  and  there  he  found  an  audi- 
ence, and  sometimes  remained  till  the  college-gates  were  opened, 
rather  (I  believe)  than  rouse  the  old  porter,  Peter,  from  his  bed  to 
open  for  him  expressly.  It  must  not  be  supposed,  that  in  these 
strange  meetings  he  indulged  in  intemperance;  no  such  thing ;  he 
went  to  such  places,  I  am  convinced,  to  study  character,  in  which 
they  abounded.  I  never  saw  him  show  the  slightest  appearance 
even  of  drink,  notwithstanding  our  wine-drinking,  suppers,  punch, 
aii'l  smoking  in  the  common  room,  to  very  late  hours.  I  never 
shall  forget  his  figure,  sitting  with  a  long  earthen  i>ipe,  a  great  tie 
wig  on  ;  those  u  igs  had  descended,  I  fancy,  from  the  days  of  Addi- 
son (wlio  had  been  a  member  of  our  College),  and  were  worn  by 
us   all  (in  order,  I  presume,  to  preserve  our  hair  and   dress  from 


THE    OKPIIAN    MAID.  55 

tobacco  smoke)  when  smoking  commenced,  after  supper;  and  a 
strange  appearance  we  made  in  thorn  ! 

"His  ])edestrian  feats  were  marvellous.  On  one  occasion,  hav- 
ing been  absent  a  day  or  two,  we  asked  him,  on  his  return  to  the 
common  room,  where  he  Imd  been  ?  lie  said,  in  London.  When 
did  you  return  ?  This  morning.  How  did  you  come  ?  On  foot. 
As  we  all  expressed  surprise,  he  said :  '  Why,  the  fact  is,  I  dined 
yesterday  with  a  friend  in  Grosvenor  (I  think  it  was)  Square,  and 
as  I  quitted  the  house,  a  fellow  who  was  passing  was  impertinent 
and  insulted  me,  upon  which  I  knocked  him  down;  and  as  I  did 
not  choose  to  have  myself  called  in  question  for  a  street  row,  I  at 
once  started,  as  I  was,  in  my  dinner  dress,  and  never  stopped  until 
I  got  to  the  College  gate  this  morning,  as  it  was  being  opened.' 
Now  this  was  a  walk  of  fifty-eight  miles  at  least,  which  he  must 
have  got  over  in  eight  or  nine  hours  at  most,  supposing  liini  to 
have  left  the  dinner-party  at  nine  in  the  evening.* 

"He  had  often  spoken  to  me  when  at  Oxford  of  a  protracted 
foot-tour  which  he  liad  made  in  Ireland  some  years  previous,  and 
about  which  there  appeared  to  me  a  sort  of  mystery,  which  he  did 
not  explain.  "  R.  H.  S."f 


CHAPTER  IV. 


THE     ORPHAN     MAID. UNIVERSITY     CAREER. 

1803-'08. 

The  course  of  true  love,  whether  calm  or  troubled,  whether  issu 
ing  in  sunshine  or  in  storm,  is  "  an  old,  old  story  ;"  but  it  is  one 
that  sums  up  the  chiefest  joys  and  sorrows  of  men  and  women,  and 

*  Mr.  SouthweU's  statfiment  may  seem  an  exacrseration ;  but  a  reference  to  Mr.  Findlay's  ac- 
count, at  p.  24,  will  show  that  my  father  had  easily  performed  six  miles  an  hour  in  what  I  take 
for  granted  to  be  a  more  difficult  mode  of  progression  than  the  ordinary,  viz.,  "toe  and  heel." 

tAs  a  tail-piece  to  Mr.  Southwell's  letter,  I  take  the  liberty  of  inserting  here  one  of  Mr. 
Lockhart's  Ilogartliian  skotches,  containing,  I  have  no  doubt,  correct  if  not  very  flattering  por- 
traits of  some  of  the  Oxford  dignitaries  of  that  day.  The  "strictures  of  the  Edinburgh  lien'e'c,'" 
which  appear  to  have  excited  so  much  dissatisfaction,  were  contained  in  two  articles  in  the  Ii'ettie'o 
of  July,  1S09,  and  of  April,  ISIO,  in  which  some  of  the  weak  points  of  the  contemporary  system  of 
education  at  Oxford  were  handled  with  a  roughness  characteristic  of  t[:e  criticism  of  that  peried. 


5G  MEMOIR    OF    JDllX    MILSON. 

ian  only  be  regarded  with  indifFereiice  by  those  who  arc  dead  to 
he  influence  of  all  deep  and  worthy  emotions.  The  best  and 
brightest  spirits  have  shown  how  their  lives  were  ennobled  by  the 
passion  of  love,  the  faith  and  purity  of  which  in  one  heart  were  the 
spring  of  the  finest  song  that  ever  immortalized  genius,  and  the 
highest  compliment  that  ever  was  paid  to  woman.  Should  it  some- 
times happen,  when  the  heart  is  overburdened  with  its  weight  of 
sorrow,  that  comfort  and  forgetfuluess  are  sought  in  the  tumultu- 
ous excitements  of  life,  it  does  not  always  follow  that  nature  bo- 
comes  lowered,  any  more  than  that  love  is  quenched  ;  for  nothing 
in  reality  can  soothe  an  unfeigned  grief  but  resolution  to  bear  it. 
Those  who  can  endure  a  sorrow,  whatever  its  cause,  elevate  thereby 
their  moral  being,  experiencing  soon  that  all  comfort  from  outward 
sources  is  but  vanity.  A  strong  and  uncorrupted  soul  rises  ere 
long  above  the  aid  of  idle  pleasures,  and  gratefully  turns  to  the 
wisdom  that  teaches  submission,  believing, 

"  Tal  pose  in  pace  uuo  ed  altro  disio." 

So  was  it  with  John  Wilson,  to  tlie  story  of  whose  early  love  we 
now  again  turn.  The  reader  may  have  ere  this  imagined  that  it 
was  to  be  heard  of  no  more ;  that  Oxford  and  its  varied  excite- 
ments had  deadened  the  recollection  of  Dychmont  and  Both  well 
Banks.  So  little  w.ts  it  thus,  that  from  all  the  evidence  which  let- 
ters supply,  there  seems  to  have  been  no  portion  of  his  time,  during 
the  seven  years  preceding  his  permanent  settlement  at  Elleray,  in 
which  his  love  for  Margaret  did  not  influence  the  tenor  of  his  exist- 
ence, inspiring  him  at  one  time  with  ardent  hope,  oftener  sinking 
him  into  the  deepest  anguish,  from  which  he  at  times  sought  escape 
in  assumed  indifference  or  reckless  dissipation.  It  shows  hoAv  little 
the  outward  life  of  such  a  man  can  reveal  of  his  whole  nature  and 
actual  history,  that  but  for  these  letters  we  could  not  have  had  even 
a  glimpse  of  what  was  in  reality  the  dominant  thought  of  his  life 
at  Oxford,  nor  ever  known  of  the  trial  which  brought  out  so 
strongly  the  nobleness  of  his  nature  and  the  depth  of  his  filial  love. 
Had  it  not  been  that  so  many  years  of  his  life  were  spent  ia  the 
indulgence  of  a  fond  ho]ie  and  engrossing  passion,  ending  in  a 
sacrifice  to  duty  such  as  iew  men  of  spirit  so  impetuous  have  ever 
made,  this  tale  had  not  been  told.  -It  may  well  move  the  admira- 
tion of  all  who  reverence  the  power  of  self-control  in  tutoring  the 


THE    ORPHAN    MAID.  57 

lieart,  while  its  brightest  dreams  are  still  objects  of  faith.  It  will 
be  seen  from  these  letters  how  hard  it  must  have  been  for  lum  to 
bend  before  obstructions,  of  whose  reality  and  strength  he  was 
long  in  utter  ignorance. 

Of  all  his  letters  to  Margaret,  the  only  one  that  survives  of  what 
must  have  been  an  extensive  correspondence,  is  one  written  soon 
after  his  arrival  at  Oxford.  Of  hers  to  him  there  is,  I  regret  to 
say,  none  to  be  found.  The  pensive  simplicity  that  pervades  it  is 
in  entire  harmony  with  the  strain  of  the  "  Poems,"  and,  like  the 
portrait  by  Kaeburn,  will  perhaps  surprise  those  who  may  have  ex- 
pected to  find  young  Christopher  North  addressing  the  lady  of  his 
love  in  the  impassioned  and  eloquent  style  of  a  troubadour.  The 
thino;  was  much  too  genuine  for  that : — 

"  Magdalex  College,  Oxford,  Jvne  1 2,  1 803. 

"  Next  to  seeing  yourself,  my  dear  Margaret,  and  the  greatest 
pleasure  I  know  upon  this  earth,  is  that  of  seeing  your  writing ; 
and  I  cannot  describe  what  I  felt  when  I  read  your  letter,  even 
although  it  contained  some  little  censure  for  not  having  written 
you  ere  this.  When  I  knew  by  the  direction  who  it  was  from,  my 
heart  leaped  within  my  breast,  and  I  read  it  over  and  over  again 
without  .ntermission,  so  rejoiced  was  1  to  hear  from  one  so  denr  to 
me  as  you  are.  Indeed  I  must  confess  that  I  was  always  afrnid 
you  would  not  write  me,  although  this  was  more  an  unaccountable 
presentiment  than  an  apprehension  for  which,  after  your  promise,  I 
could  assign  any  reason.  But  where  the  strongest  wishes  are, 
there  also  are  the  strongest  fears.  I  see  now,  however,  that  you 
)'eally  will  write  me,  and  that,  I  trust,  often.  AVhat  a  wretch, 
therefore,  would  I  be,  were  I  to  deprive  myself  of  such  a  blessing 
by  my  owii  foolishness!  When  I  read  your  letters,  I  will  be  with 
you  in  spirit,  notwithstanding  the  distance  between  this  place  ar.d 
Dychmont.  My  silence  was  far  from  proceeding  out  of  forget  ful- 
ness of  my  promise  to  write  you.  Before  I  could  have  forgot  that, 
I  must  have  forgot  you,  which  never  will  be  to  my  dying  moment; 
and  should  it  ever  happen,  may  iny  God  forget  me.  The  truth  is, 
I  had  several  reasons  for  not  writing  you  sooner.  I  wished  first 
to  have  seen  your  picture,  which  has  not  yet  arrived,  and  indeed 
has  scarcely  had  sufficient  time  yet.  But  I  should  have  written 
you  notwithstanding  that,  had  I  been  able,  but  believe  me  when  I 
tell  you,  that  hithei-to  I  was  not. 


68  mi:moik  of  joiin  wilson. 

"Whenever  I  thought  of  writing  to  yon,  I  thought  of  tlie  dis- 
tance I  was  from  you,  of  the  sadness  I  suffered  when  I  bade  you 
farewell,  and  the  loss  of  almost  all  the  happiness  I  enjoy  in  this 
world  by  no  longer  seeing  you.  All  this  quite  overpowered  me, 
and  I  could  no  more  have  written  to  you  than  1  could  tell  you  that 
forenoon  I  last  saw  you  not  to  forget  me  when  1  was  away.  Youi 
letter  has  revived  me ;  and  if  you  have  any  regard  for  me,  which 
I  believe  you  have,  oh,  write  often,  often !  You  know  I  am  w\- 
happy ;  comfort  me,  comfort  me !  A  few  lines  will  delight  nie, 
and  you  are  too  kind  to  refuse  me  such  a  gratification.  It  will  also 
serve  to  keep  you  in  remembrance  of  me,  when  perhaps  you  might 
otherwise  forget  me,  which,  should  it  ever  happen,  would  complete 
my  sum  of  wretchedness.  If  hearing  from  me  will  alford  you  any 
pleasure,  I  will  write  as  often  as  you  choose — a  small  mark  of  all'ec- 
tion  surely  to  one,  to  serve  whom  I  would  endure  any  thing  on  the 
face  of  the  earth.  It  will  also  afford  myself  greater  pleasurv'  than 
you.  When  I  left  you,  my  dear  Margaret,  you  know  that  i  was 
afraid  that  Oxford  would  be  to  me  a  dull,  unhappy  place.  You 
seemed  to  think  not  yourself,  and  believed  that  the  change  of  situa- 
tion and  novelty  of  company  would  make  me  forget  any  tiling  that 
distressed  me,  and  even  make  me  think  less  on  those  friends  I  had 
left. 

"Perha])S  though  you  said  this,  you  did  not  exactly  thi;dc  it,  and 
wished  only  to  comfort  me,  which  you  have  so  often  and  so  sweetly 
done.  All  my  suspicions  have  been  verified,  and  how  indeed  could 
it  be  otherwise  ?  Oxford  is  a  gay  place  most  certainly,  and,  I  dare 
say,  to  peo])le  Avhose  minds  are  at  ease,  a  pleasant  one ;  but  to  me 
it  api)ears  very  different.  It  is  true,  that  when  I  was  in  Glasgow 
I  endeavored  to  dissipate  my  melancholy  by  company,  for  which  I 
could  often  feel  nothing  but  contemj^t,  and  by  pursuits  which  I 
heartily  despised.  I  imagined  such  a  course  of  life  might  have 
moderated  the  violence  of  what  my  mind  suffered,  and  I  had  cer- 
tainly acquired  such  a  portion  of  self-command  as  frequently  to  ap- 
pear the  happiest  and  most  indifferent  person  in  company.  But 
this  conduct  did  not  do.  When  alone  I  was  worse  than  ever,  ami, 
adde<l  to  my  other  distress,  had  the  idea  of  being  guilty  of  decep- 
tion, and  following  conduct  unworthy  of  myself  Accordingly  here 
I  follow  another  plan.  I  do  not  dissipate  ;  I  live  retired.  I  have 
no  need  to  follow  a  course  of  deception,  which,  if  long  persevered 


THE    ORPHAN    MAID.  69 

in,  1  could  imagine  capable  in  some  measure  of  deadening  the  sense 
of  right  and  wrong,  and  which  is  at  all  events  grating  to  the  soul. 
I  now  try  to  read,  and  have,  since  I  came  lierc,  read  a  great  deal ; 
but  all  won't  do ;  my  mind  is  ill  at  ease.  Once,  when  I  was  un- 
happy, I  had  only  to  step  across  the  street,  hear  your  \'Tjict',  see 
your  face,  and  take  hold  of  your  hand,  and  for  a  time  I  forgot  all 
my  sorrow.  This  now  I  cannot  do.  At  night  I  sit  in  a  lonely 
room,  nobody  within  many  miles  of  me  I  love,  left  to  my  own  med- 
itations and  the  power  of  darkness,  which  I  have  long  detested. 

"I  think  of  sad  things,  and  weep  the  more,  because  I  have  no 
hope  of  relief.  In  such  moments  what  a  treasure  will  your  picture 
be  to  me !  How  it  will  delight  me ;  make  me  forget  every  thing  on 
earth  but  you,  and  you  looking  like  what  you  were  when  you 
agreed  at  last  to  give  it  to  me.  Would  to  God  it  Avei'e  here! 
When,  Margaret,  you  see  how  happy  it  will  make  me,  how  could 
you  refuse  it  ?  And  yet  to  give  it  me  w^as  goodness  I  had  no  title 
to  expect,  and  for  which  I  will  often  thank  you  in  moments  of  still- 
ness and  solitude.  Oh,  what  a  treasure  is  a  friend  like  you  !  How 
little  is  real  friendship  understood  !  Who  could  ever  conceive  ihe 
happiness  I  have  felt  when  with  you,  or  so  much  as  dream  the  n)is- 
ery  T  endured  when  I  left  you  for  a  long,  long  time !  As  long  as 
there  is  a  moon  or  stars  in  the  firmament  will  I  remember  you ; 
and  when  I  look  on  either,  the  recollection  of  Dychmont  Hill,  the 
house,  the  trees,  the  wooden  seat,  which  I  am  grieved  is  away,  will 
enter  my  mind,  and  make  me  live  over  again  the  happiest  period 
of  my  existence.  Last  night  I  was  in  heaven.  I  dreamed  that  I 
w^as  sitting  in  the  drawing-room  at  College  Buildings  with  you 
alone,  as  I  have  often  done.  The  room  was  dark,  the  window-shut- 
ters close ;  the  fire  was  little  and  just  twhikling.  I  had  my  feet 
upon  the  fender;  you  were  sitting  in  the  arm-chair;  I  was  beside 
you;  your  hand  was  in  mine;  we  were  speaking  of  my  going  to 
Oxford  ;  you  were  j)romising  to  write  me ;  I  was  sad,  but  hap])y  ; 
somebody  opened  the  door,  and  I  awoke  alone  and  miserable. 

"I  have  given  you  my  promise  not  to  think  of  a  plan  you  dis- 
suaded me  from  carrying  into  execution.  Be  assured  that  I  never 
will  change  my  mind.  I  consider  you  as  my  better  angel,  for  using 
your  simple  eloquence  to  make  me  abandon  the  project.  It  would 
have  been  cruel  to  my  dearest  friends,  and  perhaps  useless  to 
myself. 

3* 


60  MKMOIU    OK    U  UN    WU.SOX. 

"  Lev  none,  not  even  Miss  W.,  see  this.  Heaven  protect  you,  uiy 
dear  My.rgaret,  and  love  you  as  Avell  as  your  aft'ectionate  fiiend, 

"John  Wilson." 

I 
The  plan  here  referred  to  was  a  romantic  project  which  he  had 

entertained  of  going  with  the  exjiedition  of  1804,  being  Park's  sec- 
ond journey  to  the  interior  of  Africa.  Apparently,  the  hostile  in- 
fluences which  ultimately  prevailed  in  dividing  him  and  Margaret 
had  hegun,  before  he  left  Glasgow,  to  disturb  the  current  of  his  fe- 
licity. However  extravagant  the  idea  of  a  journey  to  Timbuctoo 
may  a])pear  as  a  medicine  for  disappointed  love,  he  unquestionably 
meant  it ;  and  with  all  the  hardships  and  dangers  connected  with 
such  an  enterprise,  it  was  one  highly  calculated  to  excite  his  imag- 
ination and  love  of  adventure.  A  very  old  friend  thus  Avrites  re- 
garding it : — ''  He  had  certainly  a  wild  project  of  going  there,  and 
used  to  talk  of  it  in  his  usual  enthusiastic  way.  But  I  did  not  im- 
agine it  had  taken  any  hold  of  him  till  one  day  he  astonished  me  by 
appearing  in  a  complete  sailor's  dress,  and  told  me  he  was  going  to 
join  the  expedition  to  Africa.  I  used  all  my  influence  to  dissuade 
him  from  such  a  foolish  proceeding.  You  may  suppose  Avhat  dismay 
he  would  have  occasioned  in  his  own  family,  who  almost  worshipped 
him."  To  them  he  never  communicated  his  intentions  in  the  mat- 
ter, which  only  became  known  long  after  the  project  liad  been 
abandoned. 

The  next  letter  from  which  I  shall  quote  is  addressed  to  his  dear 
friend,  Findlay.  The  post-mark  bears  the  date  of  "August  IG,  1803." 
What  had  occurred  between  that  and  the  month  of  June  to  give 
rise  to  expressions  of  despondency  so  unmeasured,  can  only  be  con- 
jectured to  have  been  a  further  development  of  the  cause  of  distress 
alluded  to  in  the  letter  to  Margaret. 

..."  Since  I  saw  you,  my  mental  anguish  has  been  as  great  as 
ever.  I  feel  that  I  am  doomed  to  be  eternally  Avretchcd,  and  that  1 
am  cut  out  from  all  the  most  amiable  and  celestial  feelings  of  hu-  i 
man  nature.  ...  At  particular  times  I  am  perfectly  distracted,  and 
hope  that  at  last  the  torment  my  mind  suffers  may  waste  a  frame 
that  is  by  nature  too  strong  easily  to  be  destroyed.  I  dare  say  faw 
would  leave  life  with  fewer  lingering  looks  cast  behind.  My  abili- 
ties, understanding,  and  affections  are  all  going  to  destruction.  I 
can  do  nothing ;  I  can't,  by  Heavens !  even  assume  that  appearance 


THE   ORPHAN    MAID.  61 

of  indifference  and  gayety  I  once  did,  without  a  struggle  tliat  I  can- 
not support.  I  started  in  the  career  of  early  life  as  fair  as  tliat  of 
any  of  my  companions,  and  had,  I  confess,  many  hopes  of  being 
something  in  the  Avorld.  But  all  these  are  blasted ;  I  cannot  un- 
derstand any  thing  that  I  read,  and  nothing  in  the  world  gives,  or 
ever  will  give  me  pleasure.  I  see  others  enjoying  the  world,  and 
likely  to  become  respectable  and  useful  members  of  society ;  for 
myself,  I  expect  to  be  looked  at  as  a  being  who  wants  a  mind,  and 
to  feel  inwardly  all  the  torments  of  hell.  By  Heavens!  I  will,  per- 
haps, some  day  blow  my  brains  out,  and  there  is  an  end  of  the 
matter.  If  you  will  take  the  trouble,  when  you  have  nothing  else 
to  do,  of  writing  now  and  then  to  me,  I  know  it  will  be  one  of 
those  few  things  that  keep  my  heart  from  dying  in  my  breast,  and 
depend  uj^on  it,  that  every  word  coming  from  one  whom  I  regard 
so  dearly  as  you,  will  be  interesting  to  me.  What  the  happiness  is 
which  you  so  pleasantly  allude  to,  I  cannot  understand,  unless  it  be 
that  J.  S.,  yourself,  Blair,  and  I  are  soon  to  meet.  I  will  be  glad  to 
see  you,  but  the  word  happy  will  never  again  be  joined  to  the 
name  of  "  John  Wilsox." 

The  next  letter,  marked  "September,  1803,"  shows  an  improve- 
ment in  spirits  : — 

"  Your  former  letters,  my  dear  Bob,  so  far  from  offending,  or 
giving  me  an  idea  that  you  are  addicted  to  frivolous  levity,  relieved 
in  a  great  measure  the  burden  of  my  heart.  Although  few,  per- 
haps, ever  suffered  more  from  mental  anguish  in  a  short  lime  than 
I  have  done,  this  suffering  has  not  had  the  effect  of  making  me  look 
gloomy  disapprobation  upon  the  happiness  of  others.  1  feel,  if  all 
went  well  with  me,  I  would  be  one  of  the  hajjjjiest  of  beings  that 
ever  saw  the  light  of  heaven,  and  that  nothing  would  be  too  insig- 
nificant to  delight  me.  This  conviction  has  never  quitted  my  heart 
even  in  its  darkest  moments,  and  has  been  the  means  of  making  me 
look  with  complacency  upon  every  kind  of  innocent  and  reasonable 
enjoyment. 

"  The  little  girl  who  brings  the  newspaper  into  the  room,  and* 
trips  smilingly  along  the  floor,  gives  me  sometlnng  like  happiness ; 
fur,  Vvherever  I  see  joy  and  peace,  I  t:ike  a  sad  drlight  in  looking 
at  it.  When  your  letters  showed  me  how  pleased  you  were  with 
your  new  situation,  and  that  nothing  disturbed  you  there,  it  gavo 


0-  MEMOIK    OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

me  much  ]<lt,:isure,  therefore  I  hope  you  will  not  leave  off  that  light 
and  happy  strain  wliich  pervaded  them. 

"  I  know  that  you  and  I  are  sworn  friends,  ami  that  you  are  in- 
terested in  every  thing  that  concerns  me.  Nothing,  therefore,  in 
your  behavior  towards  me,  will  ever  appear  unfeeling;  and  what 
you  are  afraid  I  might  have  mistaken  for  indifference,  I  know  to  be 
the  hallowed  voice  of  friendship.  Were  you  here,  I  would  have  an 
opportunity  of  pouring  out  my  w^hole  soul  to  you,  and  in  that  I 
would  find  much  relief. 

"  But  a  letter  is  such  a  short  thing,  and  to  me,  sorrow  is  when 
written  so  unintelligible,  that  in  cases  of  absence  I  am  convinced  it 
is  best  to  say  little  upon  such  mournful  topics. 

"  If  writing  to  you,  and  hearing  from  you,  can  divert  my  atten- 
tion from  my  own  mind,  much  is  accomplished ;  and  I  assure  you 
that  your  letters,  with  the  minute  superscription,  effected  this 
end.  Before  I  go  further,  your  resolution  to  be  sorrowful  be- 
cause I  might  be  happier  is  very  injudicious,  upon  this  princi])le, 
that  while  it  hurts  yourself,  so  likewise  does  it  him  whom  you 
mean  to  benefit." 

To  divert  his  thoughts,  he  went  off  in  these  autumnal  days  on 
one  of  those  long  solitary  rambles  which  often  landed  him  un])re- 
meditatedly  at  night  in  an  unknown  region,  some  fifty  miles  from 
his  starting-point.  A  glimpse  of  one  of  these  excursions  is  afforded 
in  the  next  letter,  the  greater  portion  of  which,  however,  is  occu- 
pied with  an  outpouring  of  his  woes.  These  seem  to  have  received 
fresh  stimulus  from  an  ungrounded  alarm  that  a  rival  had  come  be- 
tween hiui  and  the  dear  object  of  his  anxieties. 

"  I  have  been  ex])ecting  to  hear  from  you  for  some  time  ])ast ; 
that  is  to  say,  I  would  not  have  been  greatly  astonished  though  I  had 
heard  from  you,  neither  am  I  in  the  least  surprised  that  you  have  not 
written.  As  I  feel,  however,  what  Wordsworth  and  other  gentle- 
men of  his  stamp  would  think  proper  to  call  'impulse  to  write  'mid 
deepest  solitude,'  I  have  disregarded  entirely  the  great  advance 
upon  the  price  of  writing  materials,  and  will  add  to  the  revenue  oi 
"the  Post-Oflice  by  the  postage  of  one  letter,  which  you  will  nevei 
grudge  to  pay,  when  you  have  discovered  the  hidden  soul  whicl 
pervades  these  effusions.  I  have  lately  returned  from  a  walk  ovei 
a  pretty  wide  extent  of  country,  during  w^hich,  if  at  particular  times 
blistered  soles  and  stiff  joints  did  not  vastly  increase  the  pleasures 


THE    ORPHAN    MAID.  63 

of  reflection,  other  moments  amply  recompensed  me,  and  gave  mo 
enjoyment,  though  not  unalloyed,  of  as  perfect  a  kind  as  the  general 
nature  of  frail  humanity,  assisted  by  the  workings  of  particulai 
melancholy,  could  possibly  admit.  Without  being  able  to  assign 
any  reason  for  my  conduct,  though  I  entered  into  many  philosophi- 
cal inquiries  concerning  all  the  possible  combinations  of  motives,  I 
arrived  at  Coventry,  distant  from  Oxfoi'd  fifty  miles.  The  days  of 
riding  naked  upon  horseback  being  gone,  I  beheld  no  elegant  nude 
bestriding  a  prancing  courser,  therefore  I  met  with  no  gratification 
in  the  assumed  character  of  peeping  Tom.  From  this  foolish  place 
I  went  to  Nottingham,  distant  fifty-one  miles,  and  stayed  there 
three  days." 

Here  he  abruptly  dismisses  his  pedestrian  adventures,  and  enters 
on  the  subject  more  near  his  heart. 

..."  What  will  time  do  to  such  love  as  mine  ?  It  is  not  pas- 
sion founded  on  whim  and  fancy  ;  it  is  not  a  feeling  of  her  excellent 
disposition  resembling  fiiendship  ;  it  is  not  a  regard  that  intimacy 
preserved,  but  whose  force  absence  may  diminish.  Such  feelings 
constitute  the  common  love  of  common  souls.  But  with  me  the 
case  is  different.  No  holy  throb  ever  agitates  my  heart ;  no  idea 
of  future  happiness  ever  elevates  my  spirit;  no  rush  of  tenderness 
ever  warms  eveiy  fibre  of  my  frame,  that  Margaret  is  not  the  cause 
and  object  of  such  emotions.  If  such  a  being  were  to  confess  she 
loved  me  ;  if  she  were  to  sink  upon  my  breast  with  love  and  fond- 
ness, I  would  be  the  happiest  being  that  ever  lived  among  men.  I 
feel  I  have  a  mind  that  could  then  exert  itself,  and  a  heart  that 
would  love  all  the  human  race.  But  if  this  union  is  denied  me  ;  if 
she  I  love  reposes  on  the  bosom  of  another, — then  is  the  chain 
broke  which  bound  me  to  the  woi'ld  ;  I  have  nothing  to  live  for ; 
all  is  dark,  solitary,  cold,  Avild,  and  fearful.  When  IMargaret  is 
married,  on  that  night  that  gives  her  to  ;mothor,  if  I  am  in  any  part 
of  this  island,  you  must  pass  that  night  with  me.  Bhiir  will  do  the 
same.  I  don't  expect,  indeed  I  won't  suffer  either  of  you  to  soothe 
the  agony  of  my  soul,  for  that  surely  were  a  vain  attempt.  But 
you  will  sit  with  me.  I  know  I  could  never  pass  that  night  alone. 
I  would  crush  to  death  this  cursed  heart  which  has  so  long  tor- 
mented me,  and  bless  with  my  latest  breath  my  own  INIargaret ;  for 
she  is  mine  in  the  secret  dwellings  of  the  soul,  and  not  a  power  in 
the   universe  shall  tear  her   from  that  hospitable  home.      Wluii  I 


64  MEMOIK   OF   JOHN'    WILSON. 

consider  the  ways  of  Providence  I  am  astonished.  Whoever  mar- 
ries her,  let  his  \ivtues  be  what  they  may,  I  know  he  never  could 
make  her  as  happy  as  I  could.  lie  would  not  love  her  with  so  vast 
and  yet  so  tender  a  love." 

With  a  true  poet's  mind,  he  fears  the  change  an  unworthy  help- 
mate would  bring  to  her  refined  and  enlightened  spirit : — 

"  If  my  rival  in  her  affections  were  a  being  superior  to  myself,  1 
"would  not  repine;  at  least,  not  so  much  as  I  now  do,  when  I  am 
afraid  he  is  unworthy  of  her  and  inferior  to  me.  Does  Margaret 
prefer  this  man  to  me  ?  That  she  does  I  am  afraid  is  too  true. 
Will  he  make  her  as  happy  as  I  could  ?  Can  he  like  her  as  well  as 
I  do  ?  Both  suppositions  are  impossible.  The  wife  of  a  soldier 
seldom  sees  intellectual  scenes ;  and,  in  progress  of  time,  that 
angel  Margaret,  for  whom  I  would  sacrifice  every  thing  on  earth, 
may  become — oh,  I  shudder  to  think  of  it ! — a  person  of  common 
feelings,*  and  laugh  at  all  I  have  said  to  her,  at  my  misery,  my 
love,  and  my  delusions.  Such  are  often  the  transmigrations  of 
spirit  ;  or,  rather,  the  transformations  which  Providence  permits  to 
humble  the  hopes  and  destroy  the  happiness  of  those  it  made  ca- 
pable of  prodigious  enjoyment.     May  I  never  live  to  see  that  day !" 

After  relieving  bis  breast  by  this  outburst,  he  returns  to  his 
walking : — 

"  I  had  almost  forgot  our  walking  match.  I  went  from  Xotting- 
ham  to  Birmingham.  There  I  met  Blair.  .  .  .  He  intends  visiting 
me,  perhaps  at  Christmas ;  but  I  will  tell  you,  however,  when  I 
expect  him,  and  you  must  try  to  spare  a  few  days  from  that  eternal 
copying  of  letters,  and  see  what  an  appearance  an  old  friend  cuts 
in  purgatory. 

"  I  have  sent — at  least,  am  going  to  send — you  a  small  parcel, 
containing  the  sermon  I  wrote,  and  a  letter  to  Margaret.  You  may 
open  the  parcel,  and  read  the  sermon,  if  you  choose.  Pack  them 
up  in  your  best  manner,  and  direct  them  to  Miss  M.,  College 
Buildings,  Glasgow.  I  suppose  you  have  safe  communication  with 
Glasgow,  for  I  would  not  for  the  world  the  parcel  was  lost,  as  the 
letter  is  not  for  every  eye,  and  contains  secret  feelings. 

*  This  reminds  one  of  Lockileij  Hall : — 

"  la  it  well  to  wish  thee  happy  ?— having  known  me,  to  decline 
On  a  range  of  lower  feelings,  and  a  narrower  heart  than  mine  I 
Tet  it  shall  be :  thou  shall  lower  to  his  level  day  by  day, 
What  is  fine  within  thee  growing  coarse  to  symi>athize  with  clay." 


lliK    Oia'lIAA'     MAID.  05 

"Isabella  S.,  I  'inderstand,  is  married.  I  wish  oer  all  possible 
joy.  For  God's  sake,  take  care  who  thou  fallest  in  love  with.' 
I  wisli  I  had  done  so,  f;dth ! 

"The  sooner  you  send  Margaret  the  parcel  the  better,  for  I 
should  have  written  her  before  now,  and  she  will  be  wondering  at 
my  silence.  And  let  it  be  safe.  Write  me  when  convenient,  and 
don't  be  interrupted  by  your  mercenary  concerns  and  emijloyments. 
I  would  have  given  you  another  sheet,  from  which  you  are  saved 
by  the  entrance  of  the  drill-sergeant,  who  has  come  to  teach  me 
how  to  fight  the  French,  if  they  come.  I  am  their  man.  '  God 
save  the  king  !'  "  Yours, 

"  J.  Wilson. 

"  Oxford,  Uth  October,  1803." 

The  next  letter  in  the  series  is  from  Blair  to  Findlay,  showing 
how  deeply  these  two  friends  entered  into  the  feelings  of  one 
whose  trust  in  them  was  as  that  of  a  brother.     It  is  dated 

"  Hill  Top,  January  19,  1804. 
"  The  vacation  is  over  next  Tuesday  week.  I  left  him  on  Mon- 
day morning  last ;  but  one  of  the  gentlemen-commoners  came  to 
Oxford  for  two  or  three  days,  and  briiakfasiod,  dined,  and  supped 
with  us  on  Sunday,  so  that  I  had  no  opportunity  of  speaking  to 
him  on  many  things  of  which  I  wished  to  have  talked  to  him. 
From  this,  it  happened  that  I  said  nothing  to  him  of  what  we 
talked  over  that  Wednesday  night.  If  I  had  not  thought  we 
should  have  had  all  Sunday  night  to  ourselves,  I  would  certainly 
have  spoken  of  it  before ;  but  it  is  a  subject  on  which  I  dare  not 
speak  to  him,  except  at  those  moments  when  he  seems  happier 
than  usual  from  my  presence.  If  he  is  gloomy  and  dejected,  as  he 
is  sometimes  with  me,  I  know  that  his  mind  will  be  shut  to  all 
rensonings  favorable  to  his  happiness ;  and  that  to  touch  on  that 
subject  would  be  merely  to  give  him  occasion  to  overwhelm  me 
M  ith  one  of  tliose  long  bursts  of  passion  and  misery  to  Avhich  I  can 
make  no  answer.  He  was  out  of  spirits  the  first  two  days  I  was 
there  ;  and  I  thought  it  most  probable  that  in  the  last  evening  he 
would,  from  the  idea  of  my  going  so  soon,  feel  a  greater  degree  of 
kindness  and  alfection  for  me,  which  would  keep  his  mind  in  a 
state  of  gentle  feeling,  and  dispose  it  more  easily  to  think  happily 
of  himself.     If  Ave  had  been  alone  that  night,  I  should  have  talked 


GO  mi:mi)IU  of  joiin  wilson. 

it  all  o\er  witli  him.      I  am  doubtful  whether  I  ought  to  write  to 
him  about  it." 

This  aftectionate  friend  did  Avrite  to  him  on  the  subject,  and  a 
few  days  later  he  again  addresses  Findlay: — 

"Hill  Top,  Sunset,  Tuesday,  180J. 

"  I  am  writing  to  Wilson,  and  shall  send  the  letter  to-morrow, 
so  that  he  will  get  it  on  Thursday  morning.  I  tell  him  why  I  am 
convinced  that  he  is  loved  ;  and  what  I  fear  she  may  be  induced  to 
do,  both  from  her  delicacy  and  just  pride,  which  njust  shrink  from 
the  idea  of  the  disapprobation  of  relations,  and  from  her  scrupulous 
sense  of  right,  which  makes  her  refuse  to  separate  him  from  those 
relations.  I  will  say,  that  she  is  now  guided  in  everything  she  does 
by  the  resolution  she  has  formed  since  he  left  her,  of  sacrificing  her 
happiness  to  her  sense  of  right  (she  may  perhaps  think)  to  his  haji 
piness  ;  and  I  will,  on  that  account,  caution  him  against  writing  to 
her  on  that  subject,  because  she  might  have  strength  of  mind  to 
write  a  refusal,  that  would  blast  all  his  hopes,  and  make  him  never 
dare  to  speak  of  it  to  her  again.  My  wish  is  that  he  should  see  her 
next  summer,  and  force  from  her  a  confession  of  her  feelings. 

"  See  what  he  thinks  about  P — .  He  has  talked  to  me  as  if  he 
feared  she  was  attached  to  him.  P —  left  his  country  when  she 
knew  nothing  more  of  Wilson  than  that  he  was  a  fine  boy,  and  ] 
think  it  very  probable  at  that  time  she  might  feel  a  grateful  attach- 
ment to  him  for  his  love  to  her,  and  what  she  might  think  his  gene- 
rosity. Does  Wilson  know  so  little  of  her  and  of  himself  as  to 
dream  for  a  moment  that,  after  knowing  him  as  she  has  done  for 
these  last  three  years,  her  heart  can  still  hold  by  one  wish  to  such 
a  man  as  P —  ?  If  she  has  formed  any  engagement  to  such  a  man 
as  P — ,  God  help  us  !  I  cannot  think  it  possible.  J£  it  had  been, 
she  must  have  acted  differently.  Her  love  might  overpower  in  her 
for  a  time  her  sense  of  what  she  thinks  she  owes  to  the  order  of 
society ;  while  her  only  restraint  was  the  idea  that  she  ought  not  to 
separate  Wilson  from  all  his  family  connections.  I  can  conceive  her 
doing  all  thut  she  has  done  with  the  purest  and  most  virtuous  mind, 
for  she  acted  under  a  great  degree  of  delusion ;  I  am  convinced  she 
did  not  suspect  the  consequences  to  her  own  heart  or  to  Wilson's. 
But  if  she  could  in  the  slightest  degree  look  on  herself  as  the  prop- 
erty of  another,  every  thing  becomes  utterly  incomprehensible ;  a 
positive  engagement  loaves  no  room  for  delusion,  and  in  that  situa- 


THE    ORPHAN    MAID.  C7 

tion  a  woman  of  delicate  feelings  has  but  one  way  of  acting.  I  have 
not  time  for  more.  "  Yours  ever, 

"Alex.  Blair." 

The  next  letter  in  my  possession  is  dated  March  7,  1804,*  and 
may  be  inserted  below  for  the  sake  of  chronological  order,  as  show- 
ing the  kind  of  studies  which  were  meantime  engaging  his  attention. 

JVom  this  dale  down  to  September  of  the  same  year  there  is  no 
record  of  his  doings.  Blair  Avriting  to  Findlay,  September  30th, 
says: — "I  imagine  Wilson  should  be  in  London  about  this  time  to 
meet  his  mother.  I  have  not  seen  him  this  summer."  It  may  be 
inferred  that  he  was  occupied  during  the  spring  with  liis  studies, 
and  struggling  as  best  lie  could  to  overeome  the  dejection  of  spirits, 
which,  judging  from  the  next  letter,  did  not  for  a  time  pass  away. 
During  the  summer,  he  went  off  on  a  long  excursion  through  Wales, 
to  which  he  subsequently  alludes  in  no  very  agreeable  terms.  It 
could  not  fail,  however,  to  arouse  his  poetic  sensibilities,  and  in  one 
of  the  commonplace-books  I  find  a  sketch  of  an  intended  poem  on 
this  subject,  entitled  "Hints  for  the  Pedestrian." 

The  next  glimpse  of  him  from  correspondence  is  in  a  letter  from 
Blair  to  Findlay,  of  date  November  24,  1804  : — 

"  Wilson  has  been  walking  about  in  Wales  all  this  summer,  and 
is  now  at  Oxford  again.  I  have  not  once  seen  him.  He  says  he  is 
going  to  Scotland  in  about  five  weeks.    I  believe  he  had  better  not. 

*  It  is  little  more  than  a  mere  catalogue  of  books,  but  the  playful  tone  in  which  the  commission 
is  rendered,  gives  interest  and  not  a  little  character  to  the  document. 

"Bon,  you  scoundrel,  did  you  get  my  last  letter?  If  you  can  get  any  bookseller  to  trust  me 
under  my  own  name,  or  me  under  your  nnme,  for  the  following  books,  until  this  time  twelve- 
months, buy  them,  and  send  them  down^as  soon  as  possible.  I  think  that,  with  proper  manage- 
ment, you  may  manage  to  get  it  done. 

"1.  Ferguson's  Roman  Republic,  in  octavo;  don't  buy  it  unless  in  octavo.  2.  Mitford's  Greece, 
in  octiivo;  don't  buy  it  unless  in  octavo.  3.  Stewart's  edition  of  Keid's  Philosoi>liy.  This  book 
is  only  in  octavo,  therefore  don't  buy  it  unless  in  octjivo.  4.  Malthus's  Essay  on  Population — an 
excelli'iit  book — read  part  of  it;  most  acute  thing  of  the  present  day.  5.  Godwin's  Political  Jus- 
tice; don't  buy  it  unless  in  octavo.  6.  Gillies'  Greece  in  octavo;  don't  buy  it  unless  in  octavo. 
7.  PInkerton's  Ancient  Scottish  Poems;  recollect  this  is  not  his  Ancient  Comic  Ballads.  S.  All 
Pitson's  publications,  except  English  Romances,  and  Essay  on  Abstinence  fi-om  .\nimal  Food. 

9.  Hartley  on  Man ;  last  edition  in  three  vols,  octiivo.  with  notes  by  some  foreigner  or  aimther. 

10.  Rou.sseau's  Works,  if  cheap  and  complete;  thirty-four  volumes,  or  jie' liaps  less;  but  complete, 
certainly  complete.  11.  Reguier's  History,  if  tolerably  cheap.  12.  Tiu-ner's  History  of  the  An- 
glo-Saxons, three  vols.  1.3.  Any  good  edition  of  Gilbert  Stuart's  Works;  also.  Mallet's  Northern 
Antiquities,  translated.  1.5.  Bisset's  History  of  this  Country.  16.  Al\  Piukerton's  works  indeed 
you  may  buy,  except  his  Geography.     If  possible,  let  them  all  be  in  boards. 

"J.  WiLSOH. 

"Maodalek  College,  March,  1S04, 
"  Tumday  Evening." 


68  MEMOIR    OF   JOHN    'WILSON. 

Jolin  J'luL'.y  *  is  to  come  back  with  liim.  I  expect  to  be  in  London 
about  the  middle  or  end  of  January,  and  I  suppose  Finluy  will 
come  v/hile  1  am  there,  and  we  may  settle  him  comlbrtalily.  Wil- 
son S3ys,  in  speaking  of  some  prize  he  means  to  undertake,  that  he 
feels  the  vigor  of  his  mind  returning.  God  grant  it !  If  he  will 
proD-ise  to  return  happy,  which  I  think  he  may  do,  from  Scotland, 
his  going  will  be  a  blessed  event;  but  if  he  is  to  come  away  again 
in  the  same  miserable  uncertainty,  it  will  destroy  the  little  calm  he 
has  gained,  and  repeat  the  same  sufferings  with  less  strength  to  bear 
them.     I  shall  see  him  before  he  goes." 

Soon  after  this  he  Avas  seized  with  a  fit  of  illness,  which  caused 
much  concern  to  his  affectionate  correspondents,  Blair  ^id  Findlay. 
He  quickly  recovered,  however;  and  his  brother  Andrew,  then 
serving  at  Chatham,  on  board  H.  M.  S.  "  Magicienne,"  writes  to 
Robert  ou  the  7th  of  December,  "  that  he  had  found  him  in  very 
good  health,  but  in  very  bad  spirits."  His  own  account  of  the 
matter  in  a  letter  to  Findlay,  of  December  10,  1804,  is  sufficiently 
plain,  and  needs  no  comment : — 

"Though  Avell  when  Andrew  came  here,  as  bad  luck  would  have 
it,  I  Avas  taken  ill  before  he  left  me,  but  not  dangerously,  and  I  am 
rather  better.  I  believe  my  complaint  is  nervous,  and  mortally 
affects  my  spirits.  I  have  a  constant  beating  at  my  heart,  and  a 
•wavering  of  thought  resembling  a  sort  of  derangement ;  but  I  have 
been  bled  and  feel  better. 

"This  wretched  complaint  has  been  brought  on  by  my  late  at- 
tempt to  bury  in  unbridled  dissipation  the  recollection  of  blasted 
hopes.     But  God's  will  be  done." 

Between  this  date  and  the  next  letter,  there  is  a  gap  of  ten 
mouths.  Of  what  passed  in  the  interval,  there  is  no  memorial  be- 
yond the  allusions  in  his  letter,  from  which  we  gather  that  he  trav- 
elled during  the  summer  in  the  north  of  England  and  in  Irelano 
that  a  considerable  portion  of  the  holidays  was  spent  among  the 
Lakes;  and  that  there  and  then  he  seized  the  opportunity  offered 
<  f  becoming  the  proprietor  of  Elleray,  one  of  the  loveliest  spots  in 
which  a  poet  ever  fixed  his  home.  This  letter  is  dated  London, 
October  3,  1805,  and  is  written  in  a  cheerful  strain,  yet  betraying 

♦John  Finlay,  a  yoiin?  poet  of  great  promise,  aiitnur  of  Wallnce.  or  the  Vale,  of  ElUrnUe : 
ITijitorical  an/l  liomantic  liuUads,  etc.  etc.,  was  born  in  17s2,  and  dietl  at  MotVat  iu  ISIO.  Wil- 
son wrote  an  account  of  his  life  and  writings  in  Bhtckwood  for  November,  1817. 


UNIVERSITY    CAKEEK.  69 

the  overhanging  of  the  clouds,  which  were  deepening  over  his  love- 
prospects,  though  fur  a  brief  space  breaking  into  delusive  sun- 
Bhine :  * — 

"  London,  October  3,  1805. 

"My  dear  Bob: — I  received  your  letter  in  a  wonderfully  short 
time  after  it  was  written,  considering  the  extensive  tour  of  his  Ma- 
jesty's dominion  it  had  judged  it  expedient  to  take  before  conde- 
scending to  pay  me  a  visit.  It  spent  the  greatest  part  of  the  sunnner 
in  visiting  Oxford,  London,  Scarborough,  llarrowgate,  Edinburgh, 
and  the  various  post-towns  of  Westmoreland,  Cumberland,  and 
Lancashire.  When  it  finally  reached  me,  its  visage  was  wofuUy 
begrimed  with  dirt,  and  its  sides  squeezed  into  a  shape  far  from 
epistolary.  It  truly  cut  a  most  ridiculous  appearance,  and,  indeed, 
was  ashamed  of  itself,  for  it  made  its  escape  from  my  [)Ossession 
the  day  after  I  first  cast  salt  upon  its  tail ;  and  as  I  have  never  seen 
it  since,  I  am  led  to  suppose  that  it  may  have  once  more  set  out  on 
its  travels,  in  Avhich  case  you  probably  will  meet  Avitli  it  soon  in 
Grlasgow. 

"  I  was  not  a  little  provoked  to  find,  that  during  my  solitary 
rambles  in  Ireland,  you  were  improving  yourself  in  polite  accom- 
plishments among  the  mountains  of  Wales.  The  rapidity  with 
which  you  travelled  seems  to  have  been  a^tonishing  and  praise- 
worthy. 

"  I  do  not  feel  myself  in  a  mood  just  now  to  give  you  any 
account  of  my  Irish  expedition,  which  afforded  me  all  the  possible 
varieties  of  pain,  and  a  good  many  modifications  of  pleasure.  It 
was  prolific  in  adventure  and  scrape,  and  made  me  acquainted  with 
strange  bed-fellows.  Had  you  been  with  me,  I  am  sure  we  would 
have  enjoyed  it  more  than  you  can  well  imagine.  I  have  spent  this 
summer  at  Scarborough,  llarrowgate,  and  the  Lakes.  The  weather 
has  been  sufiiciently  bad  to  provoke  an  old  sow  to  commit  suicide — 
a  fact  which  actually  took  place  near  Ambleside.  The  creature  cut 
its  throat  with  a  hand-saw. 

"  ....  I  have  bought  some  gi'ound  on  Windermere  Lake,  but 
whether  in  future  years  I  may  live  there,  I  know  not.  I  think  that 
a  settled  life  will  never  do  for  me  ;  and  I  often  lament  that  I  did 

*  As  he  in  after  life  said,  "Sometimes,  my  dear  Sbeiiherd,  my  life  from  eisrliteen  to  twenty-four 
is  an  utter  blank,  like  a  moonless  miilniglit;  at  other  times,  oh!  what  a  refulgent  dayl" — N'octw, 

XXXV. 


70  MEMOIR    OF    JOHN    WILSON. 

not  enter  tlie  army  or  navy,  a  thing  wliich  is  now  entirely  impos- 
sible. While  I  keep  moving,  life  goes  on  well  enough,  but  Avhen- 
ever  1  pause,  the  fever  of  the  soul  begins. 

"  John  Wilson." 

There  is  no  letter  again  for  a  period  of  six  months  ;  and  we  are 
left  to  imagine  that  the  interval  was  filled  up  with  alternations  of 
gloom  and  gayety,  of  hard  study  and  hard  living.  He  was  giving 
himself,  like  the  royal  preacher,  not  only  "  to  know  wisdom,"  b:it 
to  know  also  "  madness  and  folly."  The  mention  of  Margaret  is 
briefer  than  hitiierto,  even  slightly  suggestive  of  constraint,  and  one 
l)egins  to  see  some  shadowing  of  the  truth  in  that  sentence  of  the 
Essay  on  "  Streams  :" — "  For  two  years  of  absence  and  of  distance 
brought  a  strange,  dim,  misty  haze  over  the  tires — supposed  un- 
quenchable— of  our  hearts  ;  then  came  suspicion,  distrust,  wrathful 
jealousy,  and  stone-eyed  despair  !"  It  had  not  come  to  that  yet, 
for,  before  the  curtain  closes  on  this  love-drama,  there  is  one 
glimpse  of  ecstatic  happiness,  followed  only  by  deeper  gloom  and 
imbroken  silence. 

The  next  letter  is  addressed  to  Findlay,  and  dated 

"  OxFOED,  April  13,  1806. 

"  3Iy  dearest  Robert  : — If  I  have  not  answered  your  letter  so 
soon  as  perhaps  I  should  have  done,  it  was  neither  from  being  in- 
diiferent  to  the  very  agreeable  contents  of  it,  nor  careless  of  that 
happiness  Avhich  I  see  awaits  you  in  life,  and  which  no  soul  on  earth 
better  deserves  than  you.  Most  genuine  satisfaction  it  did  give  me 
to  hear  of  the  kindness  which  your  father's  memory  has  procured 
you. 

"  In  your  case  it  may  justly  be  said  that  a  good  man's  righteous- 
ness is  an  inheritance  to  his  children.  That  happiness,  prosperity, 
and  pence  may  ever  attend  you,  is  a  wish  I  need  not  express  to  one 
who  knows  me  so  well  as  you  do.  As  to  myself,  I  have  not  a  very 
great  deal  to  say.  I  am  going  on  pretty  much  in  the  old  way, 
sometimes  unha])py  enough,  God  knows  !  and  at  other  times  tol- 
erably comfortable. 

"  I  bi'lieve  that  I  live  rather  too  hard,  and  I  have  formed  a  very 
determined  resolution  to  change  my  ways  ;  but  it  is  one  thing  to 
make  a  resolution,  and  another  to  kj  •]•  it.  I  have  certainly  led  a 
dissipated  life  for  some  time,  but, 


I 


I 


UNIVERSITY    C.'.REER.  71 

"  '  Wine,  they  say,  drives  off  despair, 
And  bids  even  hope  remain, 
And  that  is  sure  a  reason  fair 
To  fill  my  glass  again.' 

"  I  expected  to  have  heard  something  from  D.,  informing  me  of 
your  intention  relative  to  our  summer  tour  to  the  Lakes.  I  wrote 
him  how  I  was  situated  at  present ;  but  I  would  like  to  hear  how 
your  intentions  are,  as  I  might  pt'rhaps  accommodate  myself  in  a 
great  measure  to  them,  I  am  uncertain  whether  I  shall  be  in 
Scotland  again  for  some  years.  If  you  could  meet  me  at  the  Lakes 
in  July  early,  even  without  our  other  friends,  I  think  we  might 
pass  the  time  most  happily.  But  I  expect  to  hear  from  you  very 
soon  at  great  length.  By  the  by,  I  know  not  what  excuse  to 
make  for  not  having  visited  Tar'*ance.  If  ever  you  see  Margaret,  T 
wish  you  would  tell  how  happy  you  know  I  would  have  been  to 
see  her,  but  that  it  could  have  been  only  for  an  hour  or  two,  and 
that  I  therefore  put  off  tlie  happiness  till  I  could  stay  a  day  or  two 
with  her  in  a  few  months.  Perhaps  she  may  attribute  to  coldness 
what  arose  from  the  deepness  of  love.  It  will  give  me  sincert^ 
happiness  to  hear  often  and  soon  from  you.  Every  thing  interest- 
ing to  you  will  interest  me,  so  omit  nothing  of  that  kind. 

"  Remember  me  kindly  to  Finlay  and  Smith,  and  to  all  you  love, 
mother  and  sisters.     Blair  is  with  me,  and  wishes  you  well. 

"  Yours  ever, 

"  John  Wilson." 

It  would  appear  from  the  following  letter,  written  from  his 
mother's  house  in  Edinburgh,  that  the  tour  to  the  Lakes  was 
changed  for  one  in  the  Highlands  of  Scotland,  which,  during  the 
space  of  six  weeks'  time,  was  agreeably  spent  by  the  aforesaid 
friends : 

"  53  Queen  Street,  Edinburgh, 
July  29,  180G. 

"  My  dear  Bob  : — I  have  long  been  conjecturing  the  reason  of 
your  unconje<;turable  silence.  What  in  the  name  of  wonder  are 
you  about?  I  had  a  letter  from  Dunlop,  ti-Iling  me  you  j)roi)Osed 
accompanying  us  to  the  Highlands.  I  hope  you  will  do  so.  Both 
Dunlop  and  myself  are  good  fellows,  but  we  should  get  d — ly 
tiresome  without  a  third.     I  think  the  best  way  will  be  to  meet  at 


72  MKMOIK   OF   Jt)HN    Vll.SOX. 

Stirling.  I  shall  be  there  on  Saturday,  the  9th,  by  five  o'clock, 
and  whoever  arrives  first  can  order  dinner  for  the  others.  You 
can  let  me  know  of  the  inn  we  had  best  go  to.  It  would  be  a 
foolish  waste  of  time  for  you  and  Duulop  to  come  to  Edinlnirgh, 
except  in  the  case  of  going  to  St.  Andrews,  which  I  strongly  give 
my  vote  against.  "  I  am  thine  ever, 

"Joii.v  WiLSOX." 

There  are  no  more  letters  dated  from  Oxford  or  elsewhere  for 
some  months.  The  next  to  which  we  come  is,  however,  of  deep 
interest.  It  is  from  Blair  to  Findlay,  of  date  March  19,  1807, 
giving  an  account  of  Wilson's  examination  for  his  Bachelor 
Degree : — 

"  ]My  deae  Robekt  : — About  a  fortnight  ago,  Wilson  wrote  to 
me  to  desire  I  would  go  to  him  immediately,  and  he  would  tell  me 
what  had  happened  with  regard  to  her.  I  went,  of  course,  and 
found  him  very  much  distressed,  with  a  degree  of  anxiety  that  I 
could  not  have  conceived,  about  his  examination,  Avhich  was  to 
come  on  in  a  few  days.  If  his  mind  had  had  its  former  strength, 
this,  he  said,  would  not  have  aiFected  him,  but  after  what  had  haj)- 
pened  to  him,  he  had  no  strength  left.  The  terror  of  this  exam- 
ination preyed  so  on  his  mind,  that  for  ten  days  before  I  saw  him 
he  had  scarcely  slept  any  night  more  than  an  hour  or  two.  I  wish 
to  know  from  you  what  it  is  that  has  liapi)ened  in  Scotland,  that 
has  shaken  his  mind  to  this  degree,  for  he  has  not  spoken  a  word 
on  the  subject  to  me ;  and  I  could  not  begin  to  speak  of  it,  after 
having  seen,  as  I  have  seen,  the  state  into  which  it  threw  him,  to 
give  Avay  to  his  feelings.  I  could  not  begin  a  conversation  that  was 
to  terminate  in  such  bursts  of  anguish  as  I  have  witnessed. 

"  Write  to  me  as  soon  as  you  can  to  tell  me  this,  though  you 
should  have  time  to  write  nothing  more.  When  he  walked  from  this 
college  to  the  schools,  he  w^ent  along  in  full  conviction  that  he 
was  to  be  plucked.  His  examination  was,  as  might  naturally  be 
expected,  the  most  illustrious  within  the  memory  of  man.  Sotheby 
was  there,  and  declared  it  was  worth  coming  from  London  to  hear 
\\\x\\  translate  a  Greek  chorus.  I  was  exceedingly  pleased  with 
Shepherd,  his  examiner,  who  seemed  highly  delighted  at  having 
got  hold  of  him,  and  took  much  pains  to  show  him  ofi^.  Indeed  he 
is  given   to  show  people  off;  and  those  who  know  little  are  said 


UNIVERSITY    CAREER.  73 

not  to  relish  the  operation,  so  that  his  name  is  a  name  of  terror, 
but  nothing  could  be  luckier  for  John  than  his  strict,  close  style  of 
examination. 

"The  mere  riddance  of  that  burden,  which  had  sat  so  long  on  his 
thoughts,  was  enough  to  make  him  dance ;  but  he  was  also  elated 
with  success  and  applause,  and  was  in  very  high  spirits  after  it.  I 
left  him  last  night." 

The  examination  was  truly,  to  use  his  private  tutor's  expression, 
a  "glorious"  one.  '•'■It  marked  the  scholar,^''  is  the  measured  but 
emphatic  phrase  of  the  formidable  Mr.  Shepherd,  in  referring  to  it. 
"I  can  never  forget,"  said  another  of  the  examiners,  the  Rev. 
Richard  Dixon,  Fellow  and  Tutor  of  Queen's,  "the  very  sjilendid 
examination  which  you  passed  in  this  University;  an  examination 
which  afforded  the  strongest  proofs  of  very  great  application,  and 
genius,  and  scholarship,  and  which  produced  such  an  impression  on 
the  minds  of  the  Examiners,  as  to  call  forth  (a  distinction  very 
rarely  confL-rred)  the  public  expression  of  our  approbation  and 
thanks."* 

*  From  subsequent  testimonies  regariMng  his  Oxford  studies  and  reputation,  a  few  may  in  this 
place  be  inserted.  The  Rev.  Benjamin  Cheese,  who  was  his  private  tutor  during  the  last  two 
years  of  liis  University  course,  thus  referred  to  that  period : — "  Among  all  my  pupils  I  nevei  met 
with  one  who  read  with  greater  zest  the  sublime  i)ages  of  the  Greek  tragedians,  or  penet.-ated 
with  the  same  rapid  acuteness  into  the  abstruse  ditliculties  of  Aristotle.  The  analyses  which  you 
then  ma<le  for  me  of  the  Ethics,  Rhetoric,  and  Poetics  of  that  great  philosopher,  I  still  preserve  as 
a  memorial  of  you.  I  never  refer  to  them  without  regrettiuij  that  your  Oxford  examination  for  a 
degree  took  place  previously  to  the  introduction  of  the  new  system,  under  which  men  are  now 
arranged  in  distinct  classes,  according  to  their  real  merits,  as  I  am  well  assured  that  the  public 
appear.'jnee  which  you  then  made  (for  I  was  myself  present  on  the  glorious  occasion)  would  now 
fully  entitle  you  to  the  very  highest  honors  which  our  University  can  bestow." 

"  He  was  always  considered  by  me,"  writes  the  Rev.  William  Rnsscll,  Fellow  of  .Magdalen 
College,  "anil  by  other  members  of  the  College  in  which  wo  were  educated,  to  be  a  man  of  strong 
powers  of  mind,  great  industry  and  zeal  for  learning,  and  no  ordinary  degree  of  taste.  His  college 
exercises  and  compositions  invariably  displayed  much  genius  and  skill  in  argument;  and  the 
snjivll  poem  on  Sculpture,  Architecture,  and  Painting,  which  gained  the  University  Prize,  given 
by  the  late  Sir  Roger  Newdigate,  on  the  first  year  of  its  establishment,  was  esteemed  on  all  hands 
to  be  a  superior  specimen  of  talent.  And  I  can  truly  say,  that  the  reputation  ho  acquired  during 
his  residence  in  Oxford,  not  only  in  our  own  Society,  but  in  the  University  at  large,  remains 
fresh  amongst  us,  though  many  years  liave  elapsed  since  he  left  us,  and  many  others  of  high  talent 
have  arisen  during  that  period  to  attract  our  admiration." 

The  venerable  President  of  his  College.  Dr.  Routh,  bore  similar  testimony  : — "  I  can  safely  say, 
that  amongst  the  non-foundationers  of  Masdaleii  College,  who  are  generally  about  twelve  in  num- 
ber, I  do  not  recollect  any  one,  during  my  long  residence  in  it,  who  has  had  an  equal  share  of 
reputation  with  yourself  for  great  natural  abilities,  united  with  extensive  literary  acquit ements. 
I  remember  the  satisfaction  I  generally  felt  at  the  appearance  you  made  at  the  exaniinaiions  ii; 
classical  authors,  lield  thrice  in  the  year  within  the  College,  and  have  often  perused  with  delight 
that  elegant  composition  which  obtained  a  University  prize,  and  whose  only  fault  seemed  to  be 
that  it  was  too  short." 

The  Ucv.  Charles  Thorp,  formerly  a  Fellow  of  University  College,  Ox'ord,  says,  "  Your  char 


74r  MEMOIR   OF   JOHN   WILSOJ«». 

Little  did  these  Examiners  and  admiring  fr.ends  imagine  with 
Avhat  feelings  John  Wilson  had  walked  into  the  schools  that  morn- 
ing, "in  the  full  conviction  that  he  was  to  be  plucked."  Little  did 
they  know,  as  they  propounded  difficulties  in  Greek  choruses  and 
the  Ethics^  of  the  more  oppressing  thought  that  had  made  the  last 
ten  nights  so  dreadful, — "what  had  happened  with  regard  to  her  P^ 
Compared  with  that,  what  to  him  was  Hecuba,  or  Antigone  either  ? 
On  this  subject,  let  it  be  noted,  he  did  not  open  his  lips  to  the  be- 
loved friend  whom  he  had  expressly  summoned,  that  he  might  tell 
him  "  what  had  happened."  And  that  sympathizing  friend,  who 
had  hastened  to  hear  and  to  console,  religiously  held  his  peace,  and 
"  could  not  begin  to  speak  of  it,  after  having  seen  the  state  into 
which  it  threw  him  ;"  and  had  to  go  elsewhere  for  information.  It 
is  altogether  a  singular  exhibition  of  character  on  both  sides,  re- 
minding one  of  those  old  Easterns  who  sat  seven  days  sj^eechless 
before  their  friend,  "  for  they  saw  that  liis  grief  was  very  great." 

"What  it  was  that  had  "  happened  with  regard  to  ^er,"  to  bring 
him  to  this  state  of  wretchedness,  may  be  gathered  from  his  own 
letter,  apparently  wiitton  about  the  same  time,  to  Findlay : — 

"  October  19,  1S07. 
"  My  dearest  Robert  : — I  have  often  wished  to  write  to  you, 
but  to  such  an  intimate  fiiend  as  you  I  know  not  how  to  speak. 
There  is  not  one  ray  of  hope  that  I  shall  ever  be  able  to  make  my 
mother  listen  for  a  moment  to  the  subject  nearest  my  heart.  I 
know  her  violent  feelings  too  well ;  I  even  know  this,  that  if  I  were 
to  acquaint  her  with  my  love  for  Margaret,  we  never  could  again  bo 
on  the  footing  of  mother  and  son. 

actcr  and  talents  were  known  to  me  when  I  was  a  tutor  at  Oxford,  and  yonrself  a  stiiJeot  there, 
before  I  had  the  pleasure  of  a  personal  acquaintance  with  you;  an  acquaintance  I  suui;ht  luid 
prized,  and  have  always  wlsaed  to  improve."'  '•  Those  who,  like  myself,"  says  Ardideacoa 
Biirnc}-,  "loved  and  admired  yon  at  Oxford,  would,  I  am  sure,  feel  pleasure  in  bcarinjj  ii  just  testi- 
mony to  your  acnteness  of  discrimination,  yonr  keen  spnrit  of  inquiry,  your  extended  rfuding, 
your  copiousness  in  illustration,  which  even  then  rendered  you  eminent  above  your  felKiws." 
"The  course  of  studies  at  Oxford,"  says  Sir  Charles  E.  Grey  (formerly  of  Oriel  Oollepc,  Oxford, 
afterwards  Chief-Justice  of  Bengal),  "had  shortly  before  been  placed  upon  a  new  and  excellent 
footing;  and  I  shall  always  consider  it  a  fortunate  incident  in  my  life  that  I  fell  on  that  period 
when  all  members  of  the  University  were  full  of  zeal  for  the  new  improvements,  and  were  on- 
paging  in  the  course  that  was  opened  for  them  with  an  ardor  which  it  was  not  to  be  hoped  could 
l;o  sustained  for  many  years.  With  what  e:iserness  and  assiduity  were  the  writings  of  the  mora] 
philosophers,  orators,  historians,  and  tragedians  of  Greece  and  Rome  read,  and  almost  learned 
by  heart.  The  distinguished  examination  which  you  passed,  the  prize  which  yon  obtained,  and 
the  general  reputation  which  you  acquired,  are  proofs  that  you  were  amongst  the  most  succcfiaful 
students  of  the  day." 


[JNITERSn'Y   C  A  REEK.  75 

"All  this  may  be  to  yon  inexplicable;  that  T  cannot  help ;  that  it 
is  the  fact,  I  know  to  my  sorrow.  Blair  is  witli  me,  and  unless  he 
had  been  so,  I  must  have  died.  Before  my  examination,  my  state 
of  mind  got  dreadful.  He  sat  up  several  nights  with  me,  and  at 
last  I  was  examined  and  got  my  degree  'cum  laude,'  a  matter 
certainly  of  indifference  to  me.  I  do  not  wish  you  to  come  to  Lon- 
don if  you  could,  for  I  shall  not  be  there.  The  only  reason  I  have 
for  writing  is  to  show  you  how  perfectly  I  am  your  friend,  and  ever 
will  be  so,  for  by  your  last  I  saw  my  silence  had  surprised  you.  If 
I  feel  more  at  home  to-morrow,  I  will  write  you  again,  but  unless 
I  saw  yourself  I  could  not  tell  you  my  feelings  and  future  plans  of 
existence,  which  must  be  joyless  and  unendeared.     Thine  eternally, 

"J.  Wilson." 

"Oxford,  1807. 
"My  dear  Bob: — I  received  your  letter  this  morning,  and  it  has 
confirmed  me  in  what  I  feared,  that  I  have  written  some  infernal 
thing  or  another  to  Margaret:  the  truth  is,  that  about  the  time  I 
wrote  her  I  was  in  a  curious  way,  as  indeed  I  am  now,  from  having 
taken  laudanum,  not  exactly  with  a  view  to  aimihilation,  but  spirits. 
That  blessed  beverage  played  the  devil  with  my  intellects,  and  ab- 
solutely destroyed  my  capacity  of  distinguisliing  right  from  wrong, 
or  what  was  serious  from  ludicrous.  At  times  I  was  in  the  same 
state  as  if  I  were  as  drunk  as  Chloe ;  and  at  others,  sober,  sad,  and 
sunk  in  despair  and  misery.  If  this  be  any  excuse  to  you  for  wliat 
I  may  have  said,  of  which  I  do  not  recollect  one  word,  you  can  em- 
ploy it  as  such  ;  if  not,  you  are  a  severer  judge  than  I  have  ever  yet 
found  you.  As  to  saying  any  thing  savage  to  Margaret,  I  scarcely 
think  that  possible,  for  why  should  even  a  madman  do  that  ?  ^ 
have  since  written  her,  and  hoi)e  whatever  ofiences  I  have  com- 
mitted, I  have  her  forgiveness.  If  you  regard  my  soul,  go  again  to 
her  and  try  to  explain  my  conduct  as  best  you  can,  for  I  am  unable 
to  justify  myself  my  thoughts  are  so  dreadful  when  I  wish  to  write 
to  her.  This  love  of  mine  has  been  a  tine  thing;  iiist  kei>t  memany 
years  in  misery,  and  noAV  perhaps  alienated  from  me  the  friendship 
and  good  opinion  of  those  I  love  and  regard;  however,  I  need  not 
expatiate  much  on  that.  As  to  the  other  parts  of  your  letter,  I  can 
say  nothing  to  them.  Do  you  really  imagine  that  I  would  easily 
give  up  the  prospect  of  eternal  felicity  ?  I  have  corresponded  with 
4 


70  MOIOIR   OF  JOUN    ■NVII.SOX. 

often  upon  the  subject,  and  know  too  well  how  it  is.     I  shall 


not  injure  them  so  far  as  to  let  you  know  all  they  have  said  on  the 
suhject;  the  enclosed  letter  may  give  you  some  faint  idea  of  it,  as 
it  is  the  n)ildest  and  most  fitted  to  inspire  hope  of  them  all. 

"J.  W." 

We  are  now  approaching  the  close  of  this  tender  episode. 
That  summer  the  lovers  met,  and  the  obstructing  clouds  for  a  brief 
space  clear  away  in  the  light  of  mutual  confidence  and  utter  joy. 
But  the  obstacles  remain,  nevertheless ;  and  as  soon  as  he  is  left 
alone,  he  becomes  a  prey  to  the  most  distracting  fears  and  perplex- 
ities. Thus  he  writes  to  his  dear  Robert  from  "  Bowness,"  some 
time,  as  I  conjecture,  in  the  autumn  of  1807  : — 

"  My  dearest  Robert  : — I  have  often  said  that  I  would  write 
you  a  long  letter,  and  as  often  have  I  tried  it;  but  such  a  crowd  of 
feelmgs  of  all  different  kinds  comes  across  my  heart,  that  I  sit  for 
hours  "with  a  paper  before  me,  and  never  write  a  single  word. 
Indeed,  even  if  we  were  together,  I  know  not  if  I  could  say  much 
to  you,  for  with  me  all  is  strange  and  inextrical)le  perplexity.  I 
love,  and  am  beloved  to  distraction,  and  often  the  gleams  of  hope 
illumine  the  path  of  futurity  with  a  glory  hardly  to  be  looked  at ; 
while,  again,  extravagance  of  love  seems  only  extravagance  of 
foUv,  and  excess  of  fondness  excess  of  desj)air.  I  am  betimes  the 
most  miserable  and  the  happiest  of  created  beings.  So  for  I  am  bet- 
ter than  during  former  years,  when  I  had  no  hope,  no  wish  to  live. 
Now,  indeed,  my  sadness  almost  wholly  regards  Margaret.  For 
myself,  I  have  been  inured  to  wretchedness,  and  though,  in  some 
respects,  or  as  fiir  as  it  made  me  a  man  of  worse  conduct  than  of 
principles,  I  have  yielded  to  the  common  eff'ect  of  misery,  in  future 
I  could  look  forward  to  dreary  solitude  of  spirit  with  some  tolerable 
degree  of  composure.  But  for  her,  whose  peace  is  far  dearer  to  me 
than  my  own,  I  have  many  dreadful  anticipations.  Should  our  union 
be  rendereil  impracticable,  and  Miss  W.  to  die,  an  event  which,  I 
trust  in  God,  is  far,  for  distant,  God  only  knows  what  would 
become  of  her." 

In  anticipation  of  these  obstacles  being  removed,  he  turns  his 
thoughts  to  homo,  and  addresses  a  beautiful  short  poem  ("  My 
Cottage")  to  Margaret.     Ilis  spirit  then  did 


LIFE    AT    ELLKRAY.  il 

"  Travel  like  a  summer  sun, 
Itself  all  glory,  aud  its  path  all  joy  ;"* 

but  this  bright  change  was  of  brief  duration.  The  curious  would, 
doubtless  desire  to  know  something  more  of  why  this  "  love  never 
found  its  earthly  close,"  while  others  will  rest  satisfied  with  such 
conclusions  as  may  be  drawn  from  the  following  expressions,  met 
with  in  letters  addressed  to  his  dear  friend,  Robert  Findlay:  "I 
feel  myself  in  a  great  measure  an  alien  in  my  own  family,  and  all 
this  is  the  consequence  of  that  my  most  unfortunate  attachment." 
And  once  more,  in  allusion  to  this  subject,  he  says:  "I  know 
enough  now  to  know  that  ray  mother  would  die  if  this  happened." 

The  following  fragment  will  terminate  this  story : — 

"  I  have  made  up  my  mind  not  to  visit  Torrance  at  present,  in 
which  case  I  must  not  come  to  Glasgow.  This  resolution,  I  hope, 
is  right.  It  has  been  made  after  many  an  hour  of  (painful)  i-eliec- 
tion.  TJiis  I  know,  that  were  I  to  go,  I  could  not  bear  to  look  on 
my  mother's  face,  a  feeling  which  must  not  be  mine.  Enclosed  is  a 
letter  to  Margaret.  If  you  could  take  it  yourself,  and  see  how  it  is 
received,  it  would  please  me  much  ;  yet  there  may  be  people  there, 
in  which  case  that  would  be  useless. 

"Thine  till  death  in  joy  or  sorrow. 

"BowNESS,  December  22." 

We  know  not  how  they  parted,  but  this  we  may  imagine,  that 
"they  caught  up  the  whole  of  love,  and  uttered  it,"  and  bade  adie\i 
forever. 


CHAPTER    V. 

LIFE     AT     ELLERAT. 

1807-1811. 

In  1807,  John  "Wilson  concluded  his  University  career,  the  bril- 
liancy of  which,  for  many  years,  gave  his  name  a  prestige  worthy 
of  long  remembrance  within  the  academic  walls  of  Oxford.  He 
loved  the  beautiful  fields  of  England,  and,  with  all  the  world  before 
him  where  to  choose  a  place  of  rest,  he  turned  his  steps  from  his 

♦  ^fUiceUaneoHs  Poems. 


To  MEMOIR   OF   JOUK    WILSON. 

Alma  Plater,  to  tliat  lovely  land  where  cluster  the  f:iir  la-KCs  of 
Cumberland  and  Westmoreland.  Having  seh'Cted  a  home  on  the 
banks  of  Windermere,  we  find  him  there  in  the  prinie  of  youth, 
with  that  keen  nature  of  his  alternating  between  liglit  and  shade, 
and  every  possible  humor  attendant  on  the  impulses  of  an  ardent 
heart,  yet  uneasy  with  a  burden  which  there  was  none  other  to 
share.  Possibly  the  restless  hfe  he  led  began  in  a  hope  of  self- 
forgetfulness ;  yet  there  was  at  the  same  time,  in  the  conscious 
possession  of  so  much  bodily  strength,  and  that  unceasing  activity 
of  spirit,  an  irrepressible  desire  to  exercise  every  iaculty.  To 
many  his  life  in  Westmoreland  may  appear  to  have  been  one  of 
idleness,  but  not  to  those  who,  with  a  kindly  discernment  of  human 
nature,  see  the  advantages  which  varied  experience  gives  to  a 
strong  mind. 

We  now  follow  him  to  Elleray.  For  a  description  of  this  beau- 
tiful spot  I  gladly  avail  myself  of  the  striking  description  of  Mr. 
De  Quincey  :* — 

"  With  the  usual  latitude  of  language  in  such  cases,  I  say  on 
Windermere ;  but  in  fact  this  charming  estate  lies  far  above  the 
lake ;  and  one  of  the  most  interesting  of  its  domestic  features  is  the 
foreground  of  the  rich  landscape  which  connects,  by  the  most  gen- 
tle scale  of  declivities,  this  almost  aerial  altitude  [as,  for  habitable 
ground,  it  really  is]  Avith  the  sylvan  margin  of  the  deep  water 
which  rolls  a  mile  and  a  half  below.  When  I  say  a  mile  and  a 
half,  you  will  understand  me  to  compute  the  descent  according  to 
the  undulations  of  the  ground  ;  because  else  the  perpendicular  ele- 
vation above  the  level  of  the  lake  cannot  be  above  one-lialf  of  that 
extent.  Seated  on  such  an  eminence,  but  yet  surrounded  by  fore- 
grounds of  such  quiet  beauty,  and  settling  downwards  towards  the 
lake  by  such  tranquil  steps  as  to  take  away  every  feeling  of  pre- 
cipitous or  dangerous  elevation,  Elleray  possesses  a  double  ch:t!-ac 
ter  of  beauty  rarely  found  in  connection ;  and  yet  each,  by  lingular 
good  fortune,  in  this  case,  absolute  and  unrivalled  in  its  kind. 
Within  a  bowshot  of  each  other  may  be  found  stations  of  the 
deepest  seclusion,  fenced  in  by  verdurous  walls  of  insuperable  for- 
est heights,  and  jiresenting  a  limited  scene  of  beauty — deep,  solenm, 
noiseless,  severely  sequestered — and  other   st:»tions  of  a  magniti- 

*  Letter  addressed  to  the  Edinburgh  Literary  Gazette,  IS'29,  a  forgotten  newspaper,  of  whic]| 
tlierx  were  only  two  vols,  imblished. 


LIFE    AT   ELLERAV.  79 

cence  so  gorgeous  as  few  estates  in  this  island  can  boast,  and  of 
those  few,  perhaps,  none  in  such  close  connection  with  a  dwelling- 
house.  Stepping  out  from  the  very  windows  of  the  drawing-room, 
you  find  yourself  on  a  terrace  which  gives  you  the  feeling  of  a 
'specular  height,'  such  as  yoii  miL^ht  expect  on  Ararat,  or  might 
appropriately  conceive  on  '  Athos  seen  from  Samothrace.'  The 
whole  course  of  a  noble  lake,  about  eleven  miles  long,  lies  subject  to 
your  view,  with  many  of  its  islands,  and  its  two  opposite  shores  so 
different  in  character — the  one  stern,  precipitous,  and  gloomy ;  the 
other  (and  luckily  the  hither  one),  by  the  mere  bounty  of  natin-e 
and  of  accident — by  the  happy  disposition  of  the  ground  originally, 
and  by  the  fortunate  equilibrium  between  the  sylvan  tracks,  mean- 
dering irregularly  through  the  whole  district,  and  the  ))roportion 
left  to  verdant  fields  and  meadows,  wearing  the  character  of  the 
richest  park  scenery;  except  indeed  that  this  character  is  here  and 
there  a  little  modified  by  a  quiet  hedge-row,  or  the  stealing  sinoke 
wliich  betrays  the  embowered  cottage  of  a  laborer.  But  the 
sublime,  peculiar,  and  not-to  be-forgotten  feature  of  the  scene  is 
the  great  system  of  mountains  which  unite  about  five  miles  off,  at 
the  head  of  the  lake,  to  lock  in  and  enclose  this  noble  landscape. 
The  several  ranges  of  mountains  which  stand  at  various  distances 
within  six  or  seven  miles  of  the  little  town  of  Ambleside,  all  se})a- 
rately  various  in  their  forms,  and  all  eminently  picturesque,  when 
seen  from  EUeray,  appear  to  blend  and  group  as  i)arts  of  one  con- 
nected whole ;  and,  when  their  usual  drapery  of  clouds  happens  to 
take  a  fortunate  arrangement,  and  the  sunlights  are  projjerly  broken 
and  thrown  from  the  most  suitable  quarter  of  the  heavens,  I  cannot 
recollect  any  spectacle  in  England  or  Wales,  of  the  many  hundreds 
I  have  seen,  bearing  a  local,  if  not  a  national  reputation  for  magnifi- 
cence of  prospect,  which  so  much  dilates  the  heart  with  a  sense  of 
power  and  aerial  sublimity  as  this  terrace-view  from  Elleray." 

At  the  time  when  my  father  ))urehased  Elleray,  there  was  no 
suitable  dwelling-house  on  the  estate,  A  rustic  cottage  indeed 
there  was,  which,  with  the  addition  of  a  drawing-room  thrown  out 
at  one  end,  was  made  capable  for  many  a  year  to  come  of  meeting 
the  hospitable  system  of  life  adopted  by  its  owner.  It  was  built 
of  common  stone,  but  it  might  have  been  marble  for  aught  that  the 
eye  could  tell.  Pretty  French  windows  opened  to  the  ground,  and 
were  the  only  uncovered  portion  of  it ;   all  else  Avas  a  profusidn  of 


so  MEMOIR    OF    JOHN'    WILSON. 

jessamine,  clematis,  and  honeysuckle.  A  trellised  entrance,  cluster- 
ing with  wild  roses,  led  to  the  chief  part  of  the  dwellinsr.  IJevond 
the  dining-room  windows  was  the  entrance  to  the  kilchen  and  otlicr 
parts  of  the  house,  only  diftering  from  the  first  door  in  being  made 
of  the  dark  blue  slate  of  the  country,  and  unadorned  by  roses. 
The  bedroom  windows  to  the  front,  peeped  out  from  their  natural 
festoons  unshaded  by  other  curtains,  while  the  cottage  was  pio- 
tected  by  a  tine  old  sycamore-tree  that,  standing  on  a  gentle  emi- 
nence, sent  its  spreading  branches  and  umbrageous  foliage  far  over 
the  roof,  just  leaving  room  enough  for  the  quaint,  i>icturesque  chim- 
neys to  send  their  curling  smoke  into  the  air.*  The  little  cottage 
lay  beneath  the  shelter  of  a  well-wooded  hill,  that  gave  a  look  of 
delightful  retirement  and  comfort  to  its  siiuation  ;  a  poet's  home  it 
might  well  be  called.  The  lofty  peaks  of  the  Langdale  Pikes  ever 
greeted  the  eye,  in  the  dark  shadows  of  evening  or  gHttcring  be- 
neath a  noonday  sun ;  and  Windermere  as  seen  from  EUeray  was 
seen  best — every  point  and  bay,  island  and  cove,  lay  there  un- 
veiled. Perhaps  in  the  clearing  away  of  mist  in  early  morning  the 
scene  was  most  refreshing,  as  bit  by  bit  a  dewy  green  cluster  of 
trees  appears,  and  then  a  gleam  of  water,  Avith  some  captive  cloud 
deep  set  in  its  light,  a  mountain  base,  or  lar-oif  pasture,  the  well- 
defined  colors  of  rich  middle-distance  creating  impatience  for  a  per- 
fect jiicture ;  when  all  at  once  the  obscuring  vapors  passed  away, 
and  the  Avhole  landscape  was  revealed. 

Although  this  picturesque  cottage  remained  the  dwelling-house 
till  1825,  my  father  began  to  build  in  the  year  1808  a  mansion  of 
more  elegant  proportions,  after  plans  of  his  own.  Wc  may  gather 
some  idea  of  what  these  plans  were  by  referring  to  his  ideal  descrip- 
tion of  Buchanan  Lodge.  The  whole  tenement  was  to  be  upon  the 
ground  fiat.  "  I  abhor  stairs,"  said  he,  "  and  there  can  be  no  peace 
in  any  mansion  where  h^avy  footsteps  may  be  heard  over  liead. 
Su]ipose  three  sides  of  a  square.  You  approach  the  front  by  a  fine 
serpentine  avenue,  and  enter  slap-bang  through  a  wide  glass-door 

♦Of  this  sycamore  he  often  spoke.  "Never  in  this  well-wooded  world,"  soliloqiiszed  the  i-*>et, 
"  not  even  in  the  days  of  the  Druids,  could  there  have  been  such  another  tree !  It  would  be  easier 
to  suppose  two  Sliaksperes.  Yet  I  have  heard  people  say  it  is  far  from  being  a  largo  tree.  A 
small  one  it  cannot  lie,  with  a  house  in  its  shadow — an  unawakened  house  tl\at  looks  as  if  it  were 
dreaming.  True,  'tis  but  a  cottage,  a  Westmoreland  cottage.  But  then  it  has  several  roofs  si  jiv- 
ing .iway  there  in  the  lustre  of  loveliest  lichens ;  e.ich  roof  with  its  own  assortment  of  doves  »nd 
pigeons  preening  their  pinions  in  the  morning  pleasance.  Oh,  sweetest  and  shadiest  of  all  ajca- 
niores,  we  love  thi-u  beyond  all  otlier  trees  I" 


I 


LIFE    AT    ELLEUAY.  81 

'into  a  green-house,  a  conservatory  of  every  thinfj  rich  and  rare  in 
the  Avorld  of  flowers.  Folding-doors  are  drawn  noiselessly  into 
tbe  walls  as  if  by  magic,  and  lo !  drawing-room  and  dining-rooin 
stretching  east  and  west  in  dim  and  distant  perspective.  Another 
side  of  the  square  contains  kitchen,  servants'  rooms,  etc. ;  and  the 
third  side  my  study  and  bedrooms,  all  still,  silent,  composed,  stand- 
ing obscure,  unseen,  unapproachable,  holy!  The  fourth  side  of  the 
square  is  not ;  shrubs  and  trees  and  a  productive  garden  shut  me 
in  from  behind,  while  a  ring  fence  enclosing  about  live  acres,  just 
sufficient  for  my  nag  and  cow,  form  a  magical  circle  into  which 
nothing  vile  or  profane  can  intrude." 

The  new  house  at  E'.leray,  of  which  this  was  an  ideal  descrip- 
tion, was,  as  Mr.  De  Quincey  remarked,  a  silent  commentary  on  its 
master's  state  of  mind,  and  an  exemplification  of  his  character. 
The  plan,  when  completed,  which  in  appearance  h:id  been  extrava- 
gant, turned  out  in  reality  to  have  been  calculated  with  the  coolest 
judgment  and  nicest  foresight  of  domestic  needs. 

In  this  beautiful  retirement  the  young  poet  was  now  at  liberty  to 
enjoy  all  the  varied  delights  of  poetic  meditation,  of  congenial 
society,  and  of  those  endless  out-door  recreations  which  constituted 
no  small  part  of  his  life.  Soon  did  his  presence  become  identified 
with  every  nook  and  corner  of  that  lake  region.  In  the  mountain 
pass,  by  the  lonely  stream,  on  the  waters  of  the  lake,  by  night  and 
by  day,  in  the  houses  of  the  rich  and  the  poor,  he  came  to  be  recog- 
nized as  a  familiar  and  Avelcome  presence.  Often  would  the  early 
morning  find  him  watching  the  rising  mist,  until  the  whole  land- 
scape lay  clear  before  his  enraptured  eyes,  and  the  fresh  beauty  of 
the  hour  invited  him  to  a  long  day's  ramble  into  the  heart  of  the 
valley.  Though  much  given,  as  of  old,  to  solitary  wanderings,  he 
did  not  neglect  to  cultivate  the  society  of  the  remarkable  men 
whom  he  found  in  that  district,  when  he  took  up  his  residence  at 
Elleray, — Wordsworth  at  Rydal,  Southey  and  Coleridge  at  Kes- 
Avick.  Charles  Lloyd  at  Brathay,  Bishop  Watson  at  Cal garth,  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Fleming  at  Rayrig,  and  other  friends  of  lesser  note,  but 
not  less  pleasant  memory,  in  and  around  Ambleside. 

The  first  meeting  with  Wordsworth  did  not  take  place  till  the 
year  1807,  the  poet  and  his  family  having  lived  the  greater  pait  of 
that  year  at  Colerton,  returning  to  Grasmere  in  the  spring  of  1808. 
At  his  house  there,  towards  the  latter  end  of  that  year,  AVilson  met 


82  MEMOIR   OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

De  Qiiinccy.  Strange  to  say,  tliey  had,  when  at  Oxford,  reinanied 
unknown  to  each  other;  but  here,  attracted  by  the  same  inlhienee, 
a  mutual  friendship  was  not  long  in  being  formed,  which  endured — 
independent  of  years  of  separation  and  many  caprices  of  foitune — 
till  death  divided  them.  The  graces  of  natm'e  with  which  De 
Quincey  was  endowed  fascinated  my  father,  as  they  did  every  mind 
that  came  within  the  sphere  of  his  extraordinary  power  in  the  days 
of  his  mental  vigor,  ere  that  sad  destiny — for  so  it  may  be  called — 
overtook  hiin,  which  the  brightness  and  strength  of  his  intellect  had 
no  power  to  avert.  The  first  impressions  of  the  "  Opium  Eater" 
must  be  given  in  his  own  graphic  words  :* — "  I  remember  the  whole 
scene  as  circumstantially  as  if  it  belonged  to  but  yesterday.  In  the 
vale  of  Grasmere — that  ])eerless  little  vale,  which  you  and  Gray  the 
poet  and  so  many  others  have  joined  in  admiring  as  the  very  Eden 
of  English  beauty,  peace,  and  pastoral  solitude — you  may  possibly 
recall,  even  from  that  Hying  glini])se  you  had  of  it,  a  modern  house 
called  AUanbank,  standing  under  a  low  screen  of  woody  rocks  which 
descend  from  the  hill  of  Silver  How,  on  the  western  side  of  the 
lake.  This  house  had  been  then  recently  built  by  a  worthy  merchant 
of  Liverpool ;  but  for  some  reason  of  no  importance  to  you  and  me, 
not  being  immediately  wanted  for  the  family  of  the  owner,  had  been 
let  for  a  term  of  three  years  to  Mr.  Wordsworth.  At  the  time  I 
speak  of,  both  Mr.  Coleridge  and  myself  were  on  a  visit  to  Mr. 
Wordsworth ;  and  one  room  on  the  ground  floor,  designed  for  a 
breakfasting-room,  which  commands  a  sublime  view  of  tlie  three 
mountains — F^airtield,  Arthur's  Chair,  an<l  Seat  Sandal  (the  first  of 
them  within  about  400  feet  of  tlu;  highest  mountains  in  Great 
Britain) — was  then  occupied  by  Mr.  Coleridge  as  a  study.  On  this 
particular  day,  the  sun  having  only  just  set,  it  naturally  haj)pened 
that  Mr.  Coleridge — whose  nightly  vigils  were  long — had  not  yet 
come  down  to  breakfast;  meantime,  and  until  the  epoch  of  the  Cole- 
ridgian  breakfast  should  arrive,  his  study  was  lawfully  disposable  to 
profaner  uses.  Here,  therefore,  it  was,  that,  opening  the  door  hastily 
in  quest  of  a  book,  T  found  seated,  and  in  earnest  conversation,  two 
gentlemen  :  one  of  them  my  host,  Mr.  Wordsworth,  at  that  time  about 
thirty-seven  or  thirty-eight  years  old;  the  other  was  a  younger  man 
by  good  sixteen  or  seventeen  years,  in  a  sailor's  dress,  manifestly  in 
robust  health,  fervidus  juventa,  and  wearing  upon  his  countenance 

*  DisiiiierrcJ  from  th    columns  of  the  Edinburgh  Lilerary  Gazette. 


LIFE   AT    ELLEllAT.  83 

a  powerful  expression  of  ardor  and  animated  intelligence,  mixed 
Avith  much  good-nature.  ^  Mr.  'WiUoix  of  Elleray' — .lelivered  as 
the  formula  of  introduction,  in  the  deep  tones  of  Mr.  Wijrdsworth — 
at  once  banished  the  momentary  surprise  I  felt  on  finding  an  un- 
known stranger  where  I  had  expected  nobody,  and  substituted  a 
surprise  of  another  kind:  I  now  well  understood  who  it  was  that  I 
saw ;  and  there  was  no  wonder  in  his  being  at  AUanbank,  Elleray 
standing  within  nine  miles ;  but  (as  usually  happens  in  such  cases), 
I  felt  a  shock  of  surprise  on  seeing  a  person  so  little  corresponding 
to  the  one  I  had  half  unconsciously  prefigured.  .  .  .  Figure  to  your- 
self, then,  a  tall  man,  about  six  feet  high,  within  half  an  inch  or  so, 
built  with  tolerable  apjicarance  of  strength ;  but  at  the  date  of  my 
description  (that  is,  in  the  very  spring-tide  and  blossom  of  youth), 
wearing,  for  the  predominant  character  of  his  j)erson,  lightness  and 
agility,  or  (in  our  Westmoreland  phrase)  lishness  y  he  seemed  framed 
with  an  express  view  to  gymnastic  exercises  of  every  sort.  .  .  . 
Viewed,  therefore,  by  an  eye  learned  in  gynmastic  proportions,  Mr. 
Wilson  presented  a  somewhat  striking  figure  ;  and  by  some  people 
he  was  pronounced  with  emphasis  a  fine-looking  young  man  ;  but 
others,  who  less  understood,  or  less  valued  these  advantages,  spoke 
of  him  as  nothing  extraordinary.  Still  greater  division  of  voices  I 
have  heard  on  his  pretensions  to  be  thought  liandsome.  In  my 
opinion,  and  most  certainly  in  his  own,  these  pretensions  were  but 
slender.  His  complexion  was  too  florid  ;  hair  of  a  hue  quite  unsuited 
to  that  complexion  ;  eyes  not  good,  having  no  apparent  depth,  but 
seeming  mere  surfaces ;  and,  in  fine,  no  one  feature  that  could  be 
called  fine,  except  the  lower  region  of  his  face,  mouth,  chin,  and  the 
parts  adjacent,  which  were  then  (and  perhaps  are  now)  truly  elegant 
and  Ciceronian.  Ask  in  one  of  your  ])ublic  libraries  for  that  little 
quarto  edition  of  the  Rhetorical  Works  of  Cicero,  edited  by  Shutz 
(the  same  who  edited  ^Eschylus),  and  you  will  there  see  (as  a  front- 
ispiece to  the  first  volume),  a  reduced  whole  length  of  Cicero  from 
the  antique ;  which  in  the  mouth  and  chin,  and  indeed  generally,  if 
I  do  not  greatly  forget,  will  give  you  a  lively  representation  of  the 
contour  and  expression  of  Professor  Wilson's  face.  Taken  as  ;i 
whole,  though  not  handsome  (as  I  have  already  said),  when  viewed 
in  a  quiescent  state,  the  head  and  countenance  are  massy,  dignified, 
and  expressive  of  tranquil  sagacity.  .  .  .  Note,  however,  that  of  all 
this  array  of  personal  features,  as  I  have  here  descinbed  them,  I  then 
4* 


8-1  MKMOIIi    OF    JOHN    AVILSUN. 

saw  nothing  at  all,  my  attention  being  altogether  occupied  with  Mr. 
Wilson's  conversation  and  demeanor,  which  were  in  the  highest  de- 
gree agreeable ;  the  points  which  chiefly  .struck  me  being  the 
liuniility  and  gravity  with  which  he  spoke  of  himself,  his  large  ex- 
pansion of  heart,  and  a  certain  air  of  noble  frankness  which  over- 
sj^read  every  thing  he  said  ;  he  seemed  to  have  an  intense  enjoyment 
of  life;  ind(;ed,  being  young,  rich,  healthy,  and  full  of  intellectual 
activity,  it  could  not  be  Aery  wonderful  tliat  he  should  feel  happy 
and  pleased  with  himself  and  others  ;  but  it  was  somewhat  unusual 
to  tiiid  that  so  rare  an  assemblage  of  endowments  had  communicated 
no  tinge  of  arrogance  to  his  manner,  or  at  all  disturbed  the  general 
temperance  of  his  mind." 

Many  Avere  the  pleasant  days  spent  by  these  friends  together; 
many  the  joyous  excursions  among  the  hills  and  valleys  of  the  lake 
country.  One  memorable  gathering  is  still  remembered  in  the  lone 
places  of  the  mountains,  and  spoken  of  to  the  stranger  wandering 
there.  One  lovely  summer  day,  in  the  year  1809,  the  solitudes  of 
Eskdale  were  invaded  by  what  seemed  a  little  army  of  anglers.  It 
consisted  of  thirty-two  persons,  ten  of  whom  were  servants  brought 
to  look  after  the  tents  and  baggage  necessary  for  a  week's  sojourn 
in  the  mountains.  This  camp  Avith  its  furniture  Avas  carried  by 
twelve  ponies.  Among  the  gentlemen  of  the  party  Avere  Wilson, 
Wordsworth,  De  Quincey,  Alexander  Blair,  tAVO  Messrs.  Astley, 
Plumphries,  and  some  others  Avhose  names  have  escaped  notice. 
After  passing  through  Eskdale,  and  that  solenm  tract  of  country 
Avhich  ojiens  upon  WastAvater,  they  there  pitched  their  tent,  and 
roaming  far  and  near  from  that  point,  each  took  his  own  Avay  till 
evening  hours  assembled  them  together. 

The  beauty  of  the  scenes  through  Avhich  they  rambled,  the  fine 
weather,  and,  above  all,  that  geniality  of  taste  and  disposition  Avhich 
had  brought  them  together,  made  the  occasion  one  of  unforgotten 
satisfaction.  It  formed  the  theme  of  one  of  Wilson's  most  beautiful 
minor  poems,  entitled  the  "Anglers'  Tent,"  which  Avas  Avritten  soon 
after  at  Elleray,  Avhere  WordsAVorth  Avas  then  living.  One  morning 
a  great  discussion  took  place  between  the  poets  about  a  verse  Wil- 
son had  some  difficulty  in  arranging.  At  last,  after  mucli  trying 
and  questioning,  it  Avas  made  out  between  them: — 

"  The  placid  lake  that  rested  far  l>elow, 
Softly  embosoiping  another  sky, 


LIFE    AT    JJLLKKAY.  85 

Still  as  we  gazed  assumed  a  lovelier  glow, 
And  seemed  to  send  us  looks  of  auiily." 

The  troublesome  line  was — 

"Softlj'  embosoming  anotlior  sky." 

In  a  letter  I  received  from  Dr.  Blair,  he  says : — *' '  The  Friend  ' 
was  going  on  at  that  time — Coleridge  living  at  Wordsworth's — 
Wordsworlii  making,  and  reading  to  us  as  he  made  tlieni,  the  'Son- 
nets to  the  Tyrolese,'  first  given  in  'The  Friend  ;'  and  from  EUeray 
that  winter  went  '  Mathetes.'*  I  remember  that  De  Quincey  was 
with  us  at  the  time.  He  may  have  given  some  suggestions  besides, 
but  we  certainly  owed  to  him  our  signature." 

Of  my  fatlier's  poetic  compositions  during  tliese  years  I  shall 
speak  j)resently.  I  find  in  one  of  his  commonplace-books  some 
unpublished  verses,  which  may,  however,  be  inserted  here,  if  only 
in  illustration  of  what  at  this  time  was  a  frequent  practice  of 
his,  and  continued  to  be  indulged  in  for  many  years  of  his  after 
hfe,  viz.,  the  habit  of  walking  in  solitude  during  the  hours  of  niglit. 
In  spite  of  his  generally  even  flow  of  good  si)irits,  and  his  lively 
enjoyment  of  social  pleasures,  it  seemed  as  if  in  the  depths  of  his 
heart  he  craved  some  influence  more  soothing  and  elevating  than 
even  the  most  congenial  companionship  could  aftbrd.  In  these 
silent  hours,  whether  pacing  among  the  hills,  or  resting  in  contem- 
plation of  the  glories  of  the  earth  and  sky,  the  solemnity  of  feeling 
which  was  thus  induced  found  natural  expression  in  words  of  re- 
ligious adoration.  At  the  head  of  the  lake  stood  the  niansion  of 
Brathay,  the  property  of  Allan  Harden,  Escp  There,  on  his  way  for 
a  midnight  ramble,  did  he  often  gain  admittance,  and,  for  some 
time,  hold  converse  with  his  friend,  before  taking  his  solitary  way 
to  the  mountains,  within  the  deep  shadoAVS  of  which  he  would 
wander  for  hours,  engaged  in  what  he  appropriately  calls 

"MiDNiGUT  Adoration. 

"  Beneath  the  fuU-orb'd  moon,  that  bathed  in  liglit 
The  mollovv'd  verdure  of  Ilclvellyn's  steep, 
My  spirit  tecnung  with  creations  bright, 

I  walked  like  one  who  wanders  in  his  sleep! 

♦  A  letter  on  Education,  tho  .joint  composition  of  Wilson  and  Blair,  udilresscd  to  the  editor  of 
"  The  Friend." 


^^  MEMOIR    OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

"The  glittering  stillness  of  the  starry  sky 
Shone  in  luy  heart  as  in  the  waveless  sea; 
And  rising  up  in  kindred  majesty, 

I  felt  my  soul  from  earthly  fetters  free  1 

"Joy  filled  my  being  like  a  gentle  flood; 
I  felt  as  living  without  pulse  or  breath ; 
Eternity  seem'd  o'er  my  heart  to  brood, 

And,  as  a  faded  dream,  I  thought  of  death. 

"Through  the  hush'd  air  awoke  mysterious  awe 
God  cheer'd  my  loneliness  with  holy  mirth; 
And  in  this  blended  mood  I  clearly  saw 
The  moving  spirit  that  pervades  the  earth. 

"  While  adoration  blessed  my  inward  sense 
I  felt  how  beautiful  this  world  could  be, 
When  clothed  with  gleams  of  high  intelligence 
Born  of  the  mountain's  still  sublimity. 

"  I  sunk  in  silent  worship  on  my  knees, 

While  night's  unnumber'd  planets  roll'd  afar; 
Blest  moment  for  a  contrite  heart  to  seize — 
Forgiving  love  shone  forth  in  every  star  I 

"The  mighty  moon  my  pensive  soul  subdued 
With  sorrow,  tranquil  as  her  cloudless  ray, 
Mellowing  the  transport  of  her  loftiest  mood 
With  conscious  glimmerings  of  immortal  day. 

"  I  felt  with  pain  that  hfe's  perturbed  wave 

Had  dimni'd  the  blaze  to  sinless  spirits  given; 
But  saw  with  joy,  reposing  on  the  grave. 

The  seraph  Hope  that  points  the  way  to  heaven. 

"  The  waveless  clouds  that  hung  amid  the  hght, 
By  Mercy's  hand  with  braided  glory  wove, 
Seem'd,  in  their  boundless  mansions,  to  my  sigh : 
Like  guardian  spirits  o'er  the  land  they  love. 

"  My  heart  lay  pillowed  on  their  wings  of  sno-n , 
Drinking  the  calm  that  slept  on  every  fold, 
Till  memory  of  the  life  she  led  below 
Seem'd  like  a  tragic  tale  to  pity  told. 

When  visions  from  the  distant  world  arose — 
How  fair  the  gleams  from  memory's  mystic  urn; 

How  did  my  soul,  'mid  Nature's  blest  repose, 
To  the  suCt  bo.soiu  of  aflec-tiou  turn  1 


LIFE    AT    ELLERAY.  87 

"  Then  siuless  grew  my  hopes,  my  wishes  pure, 
Breeding  a  seraph  loftiness  of  soul ; 
Though  free  from  pride,  I  felt  of  heaven  secure 
A  step,  a  moment  from  the  eternal  goal  I 

"  Those  fearful  doubts  that  strike  the  living  blood. 

Those  dreams  that  sink  the  heart,  we  know  not  why, 
Were  changed  to  joy  by  this  mysterious  mood. 
Sprung  from  the  presence  of  Eternity. 

"I  saw,  returning  to  its  fount  sublime. 

The  flood  of  being  that  from  Nature  flowed; 
And  then,  displaying  at  the  death  of  time 
The  essence  and  the  lineaments  of  God  I 

"Thus  pass'd  the  midnight  hour,  till  from  the  wave 
The  orient  sun  flamed  slowly  up  the  sky; 
Such  a  blest  spirit  found  illumined  gaze. 
And  seom'd  to  realize  my  vision  high." 

Another  extract  from  the  same  book  contains  a  touching  record 
of  the  associations  connected  with  a  summer  day's  ramble  with 
Wordsworth  upon  the  slopes  of  Helvellyn.  It  appears  to  be  an 
outline  in  prose  of  what  was  meant  to  form  the  subject  of  a  poem, 
to  be  entitled  Red  Tarn,  and  is  as  follows: — 

"  Address  to  the  reader  about  the  reports  he  may  have  heard 
about  the  beauty  and  sublimity  of  the  lakes. 

"  He  probably  has  resolved  to  go  up  to  Helvellyn  to  admire  the 
sublimity  of  that  mountain  :  this  is  right.  Now  beneath  that 
mountain  there  is  a  little  tarn  which  you  will  see.  I  will  tell  you 
something  about  that  tarn.  Two  persons  were  sitting  silent  and 
alone  beside  that  tarn,  looking  steadfastly  on  the  water,  and  lost  in 
thought.  These  were  two  brothers  who  dearly  loved  each  other, 
and  had  done  so  from  earliest  youth  to  manhood.*  Tlie  one  Avas  a 
man  of  genius  and  a  poet,  who  lived  among  these  mount.iins  enjoy- 
ing his  own  thoughts.  The  other  younger  by  a  few  years,  and  had 
gone  to  sea,  but  had  lately  returned  to  see  his  brother,  and  resolved 
to  live  with  him.  His  brother  accom])anipd  him  across  the  hills  on 
his  way  to  join  his  ship  for  the  last  time,  and  here  they  sat,  about 
to  part.  They  had  talked  over  their  future  plans  of  happiness  when 
they  were  again  to  meet,  and  of  their  simple  sports.     As  their  last 

*  Wonlsworlh  and  a  bi other  who  w;is  afterwards  drowned. 


88  MEMOIR    OF   JOHN    ^VILSON. 

act,  tliey  agreed  to  lay  the  foundation-stone  of  a  little  fisliing-but, 
and  tliis  they  did  with  tears. 

'•  Tlicy  parted  there,  in  that  dim  and  solemn  place,  and  recom- 
mended each  other  to  God's  eternal  care. 

'*  The  one  brother  was  drowned  at  sea.  After  the  first  agony 
was  over,  the  recollection  of  that  parting  flashed  upon  the  mind  of 
the  survivor;  he  at  last  found  courage  to  go  there,  and  in  a  state 
of  blindness  and  desolation  sat  down  upon  the  very  stone.  At  last 
he  opened  his  eyes,  the  tarn  smiling  with  light ;  the  raven  croaking 
as  before  when  they  parted ;  all  the  crags  seem  the  same ;  the  sheep 
are  in  the  same  figures  browsing  before  them ;  he  almost  expects 
to  find  his  brother  at  his  side;  he  then  thinks  of  shipwreck  and 
agony  of  all  kinds. 

"  Next  time  he  sits  calmly  and  thinks  upon  it  all ;  he  even  now 
loves  the  spot,  and  can  talk  of  it. 

"  I  one  SAveet  summer  day  went  along  with  him  and  heard  the 
melancholy  tale. 

"  Then,  whoever  goes  to  that  sublime  solitude,  muse  with  holy 
feelings,  and  with  the  wildness  of  nature  join  human  sympathies." 

But  there  were  other  pursuits  besides  poetry  that  formed  a  part 
of  my  father's  life  at  Elleray  too  prominent  and  characteristic  to  be 
passed  unnoticed.  Of  these  his  various  commonplace-books  contain 
not  a  few  memoranda,  strangely  intermixed  with  matters  of  a 
graver  or  more  sentimental  kind.  Among  the  other  amusements 
with  which  he  diversified  life  in  the  country,  boating  was  one  of  the 
principal.  As  may  be  supposed,  this  was  a  favorite  diversion  in  the 
lake  country,  and  Wilson's  taste  for  it  was  cultivated  with  a  zeal 
that,  in  fact,  became  a  passion.  The  result  was  a  degree  of  skill 
and  hardihood  beyond  that  of  most  amateurs.  He  had  a  small  fleet 
on  Windermere,  the  expense  of  maintaining  which  was  undoubtedly 
very  considerable.*  Of  the  iu;merous  boatmen  required  to  man 
these  vessels  there  was  one  whose  name  became  at  Elleray  familiar 
as  a  household  word — the  faithful  Billy  Balmer.  Billy  Avas  the 
neatest  and  best  rower  on  Windermere,  and  knew  that  beauteous 
water  from  head  to  foot,  in  all  her  humors,  from  sunrise  to  night- 

*  Among  the  miscellaneous  jottings,  from  which  I  have  been  extracting  above,  I  find  such 
Items  as  the  following: — "  Endeavor,  and  mnsts  and  sails,  £100;  ballast,  £I5-€175;"  "  Eliza,  £30;" 
"'Endeavor,  £150;"  "  Palafox,  £iO;"' "Jam-.  £H0;"  "additional  Endeavor,  £25;"  "  Cjyde,  Billy, 
Snail,  £10."  The  names  of  his  sailing  ves.seis  wero— The  Endeavor,  The  Eliza,  The  Tjlafox,  Tiio 
lioscoe,  The  Clyde,  The  Jane,  The  Billy,  besidns  a  flno  ten-oared  Oxford  barge,  called  Nil  Tinioo. 


LIFE    AT    ELLKRAY.  89 

fall,  and  even  later.  There  was  not  a  more  skilful  boatman,  or  a 
steadier  steersman  on  the  lake,  and  he  was  about  the  best  juiltre  of 
a  pretty  craft  and  good  sailing  to  be  found.  lie  could  sing  :i  sailor's 
song,  had  an  undeniable  love  of  fun,  imderstood  humor,  and  felt  the 
dift'erence  of  Avit.  No  one  knew  how  to  tell  a  story  better,  and 
with  a  due  unction  of  excusable  exaggeration  combined  with  reality; 
and  in  every  tale  of  Billy  his  master  Avas  invariably  the  hero.  He 
was  a  little  man,  weather-beaten  in  complexion,  and  much  marked 
from  smallpox.  His  hair  was  of  a  light  sandy  color ;  his  eyes  blue 
and  kindly  in  expression,  as  was  also  his  smile ;  his  gait,  rather 
doglike,  not  quite  straight  ahead,  but,  like  that  honest  animal,  he 
was  sure-footed,  and  quick  in  getting  over  the  ground.  That  plea 
sant  broad  Westmoreland  dialect  of  his,  too,  gave  peculiar  charac- 
ter to  his  voice  ;  and  there  is  a  grateful  remembrance  of  the  hearty 
grasp  of  his  little,  hard,  horny  hand  when  it  greeted  welcome,  or 
bade  adieu,  while  the  whole  picture  of  the  man,  in  his  blue  dress, 
sailor  fashion,  stands  distinctly  before  me,  either  as  he  steered  the 
"  Endeavor"  or  mowed  the  grass  on  the  lawn  at  Elleray.* 

One  or  two  anecdotes  still  linger  about  the  country,  showing  how 
recklessly  Wilson  could  expose  himself  at  all  hours  to  the  chances 
of  the  M^eather.  Cold,  snow,  wind,  and  rain  were  no  obstacles  ; 
nothing  could  repress  the  impulse  that  drove  him  forth  to  seek  na- 
ture in  all  her  moods.  During  a  stormy  December  night,  when 
the  snow  was  falling  fast,  with  little  or  no  light  in  the  heavens,  he 
took  a  ftmcy  to  tempt  the  waters  of  Windermere,  and  setting  off 
with  the  never-failing  Billy,  they  took  boat  from  INIiller-ground  and 
steered  for  Bowness.  In  a  short  time  all  knowledge  of  the  point 
to  which  they  Avere  bound  was  lost.  The  darkness  became  more 
dismal  every  moment ;  the  cold  was  intolerable.  Several  hours 
were  spent  in  this  dreary  position,  poor  Billy  in  despair,  expecting 
every  instant  would  find  them  at  the  bottom  of  the  lake,  when  sud- 
denly the  skiff  went  aground.  The  oars  were  not  long  in  being 
made  use  of  to  discover  the  nature  of  their  disaster,  what  and 
where  they  had  struck,  when,  to  their  great  satisfaction,  a  landing- 

♦  "Seldom  rose  we"  S5iid  my  father  in  after  years,  "from  our  delightful  donnitory  till,  about 
twelve  o'clock,  we  heard  thj;  south  breeze  come  pushini;  up  from  the  sea.  Theu  Billy  used  to  tap 
nt  our  door,  with  his  t.arry  paw,  and  wtiisper,  'Master.  I'etrgs  is  ready.  I  have  brailed  up  the  fore- 
Rail;  uer  ji^rger  sits  as  straight  as  the  Knave  of  Clubs,  and  we  have  ballasted  with  sand-bags. 
VVe'se  beat  the  Liverpooleaii  to-iLiy,  Master.'    Then  I  rose."    See  also  Wihons  tt'orks. 


90  MKMUIK    OF    JOHN    WILSON. 

place  was  foiuul.  Tliey  had  been  beating  about  Miller-ground  all 
the  time,  scarcely  a  stone's-throw  from  their  starting  place.  Billy's 
account  of  the  stury  was,  "that  Master  was  weli-nigh  frozen  to 
death,  and  had  icicles  a  finger-length  hanging  from  his  hair  and 
beard."  This  adventure  ended  in  the  toll-keeper  on  the  Ambleside 
road  being  knocked  up  from  his  slumbers,  and  their  spending  the 
rest  of  the  night  with  him,  seated  by  a  blazing  fire,  telling  stories 
and  drinking  ale,  a  temptation  to  which  Billy  had  no  difficulty  in 
yielding. 

These  lake  escapades  were  not  confined  to  boating.  ^  Riding  one 
day  with  his  friend,  Mr.  Richard  "Watson,  by  the  margin  of  Rydal 
Lake,  my  f\\ther's  horse  became  restive.  Finding  that  no  ordinary 
process  would  soothe  the  animal,  he  turned  his  head  to  the  lake, 
with  the  intention  of  walking  gently  among  the  oozy  reeds  that 
grew  on  its  banks,  when,  quite  forgetful  or  heedless  that  they  sud- 
denly sloped  to  the  water,  the  horse  and  his  rider  were  in  a  mo- 
ment plunged  beyond  their  depth.  Having  got  into  deep  water«, 
there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  swim  through  them ;  and  presently 
lie  became  aware  that  his  friend's  horse,  true  to  the  lead,  was  fol- 
lowing close  behind.  Fortunately  the  lake  was  not  very  broad, 
and  their  passage  across  was  soon  made,  though  not  without  some 
little  feeling  of  apprehension  ;  for  his  friend  Watson  could  not  swim 
a  stroke. 

This  equestrian  performance  suggests  a  story  of  another  kind  of 
diversion  in  which,  according  to  Mr.  De  Quincey's  account,  my 
father  occasionally  indulged  at  Eileray.  It  is  best  given  in  the 
Opium  Eater's  own  words: — "Represent  to  yourself  the  earliest 
dawn  of  a  fine  summer's  morning,  time  about  half-past  two  o'clock. 
A  yountr  man,  anxious  for  an  introduction  to  ]Mr.  "Wilson,  and  as 
yet  i)reity  nearly  a  stranger  to  the  country,  has  taken  up  his  abode 
in  Grasmere,  and  has  strolled  out  at  this  early  hour  to  that  rocky 
and  moorish  common  (called  the  "White  Moss)  which  overhangs 
the  Vale  of  Rydal,  dividing  it  from  Grasmere.  Lookincr  south- 
wards in  the  direction  of  Rydal,  suddenly  he  becomes  aware  of  a 
huge  beast  advancing  at  a  long  trot,  with  the  heavy  and  thundering 
tread  of  a  hippopotamus,  along  the  public  road.  The  creature  is 
soon  arrived  within  half  a  mile  of  his  station  ;  and  by  the  gray  light 
of  morning  is  at  length  made  out  to  be  a  bull  apparently  flying  from 
some  unseen  enemy  in  his  rear.     As  yet,  huwever,  all  is  mystery; 


LIFE    AT    ELLERAY.  91 

but  suddenly  tliree  horsemen  double  a  turn  in  the  road,  and  come 
flying  into  sight  with  the  speed  of  a  hurricane,  manitestly  in  pursuit 
of  the  fugitive  bull:  the  bull  labors  to  navigate  his  huge  bulk  to 
the  moor,  which  he  reaches,  and  then  pauses,  panting,  and  blowing 
out  clouds  of  smoke  from  his  nostrils,  to  look  back  from  his  station 
amongst  rocks  and  slippery  crags  upon  his  hunters.  If  he  had  con- 
ceited that  the  rockiness  of  the  ground  had  secured  his  repose,  the 
foolish  bull  is  soon  undeceived  ;  the  horsemen,  scarcely  relaxing 
their  speed,  chai'ge  up  the  hill,  and  speedily  gaining  the  rear  of  tho 
bull,  drive  him  at  a  gallop  over  the  worst  part  of  that  ijn})racticable 
ground  down  into  the  level  ground  below.  xVt  this  ])oint  of  time 
the  stranger  perceives,  by  the  increasing  light  of  the  morning,  that 
the  hunters  are  armed  with  immense  spears  fourteen  feet  long. 
With  these  the  bull  is  soon  dislodged,  and  scouring  down  to  the 
plain  below,  he  and  the  hunters  at  his  tail  take  to  the  common  at 
the  head  of  the  lake,  and  all,  in  the  madness  of  the  chase,  are  soon 
half  ingulfed  in  the  swamps  of  the  morass.  After  plunging  together 
for  ten  or  fifteen  minutes,  all  su<ldenly  regain  the  terra  Jirma,  and 
the  bull  again  makes  for  the  rocks.  Up  to  this  moment  there  had 
been  the  silence  of  ghosts  ;  and  the  stranger  had  doubted  whether 
the  spectacle  were  not  a  pageant  of  aerial  spectres,  ghostly  hunts- 
men, ghostly  lances,  and  a  ghostly  bull.  But  just  at  this  crisis,  a 
voice  (it  was  the  voice  of  Mr.  "Wilson)  shouted  aloud,  'Turn  the 
villain  ;  turn  that  villain  ;  or  he  will  take  to  Cumberland.'  The 
young  stranger  did  the  service  required  of  him  ;  the  villain  was 
turned  and  fled  southwards;  the  hunters,  lance  in  rest,  rushed  after 
him ;  all  bowed  their  thanks  as  they  fled  past ;  the  fleet  cavalcade 
again  took  the  high  road;  they  doidded  the  caj)e  which  shut  them 
out  of  sight ;  and  in  a  moment  all  had  disappeared,  and  left  the 
quiet  valley  to  its  original  silence,  whilst  the  young  stranger  and 
two  grave  Westmoreland  '  statesmen'  (who  by  this  time  had  come 

^  uito  sight  upon  some  accident  or  other)  stood  wondering  in  silence, 

'  and  saying  to  themselves,  perhaps, 

'  Tho  earth  hath  bubbles  as  tlio  water  hath ; 
And  these  are  of  them  1' 

"  But  they  were  no  bubbles  :  the  bull  was  a  subst.-mtial  bull  ;  and 
took  no  harm  at  all  from  being  turned  out  oecasio)ially  at  midnight 
for  a  chase  of  fifteen  or  eighteen  miles.     The  bull,  wo  doubt,  used  to 


92  MEMom  OF  JOHN  wilson. 

wondor  at  this  nightly  visitation  ;  and  tlie  owner  of  the  hull  must 
sonietinies  have  pondered  a  little  on  tlie  draggled  state  in  which 
the  swamps  Avould  now  and  then  leave  his  beast;  but  no  other 
harm  cauie  of  it."  * 

His  love  of  animals  has  already  been  noticed. f  Next  to  his 
boats,  if  not  claiming  an  equal  share  of  attention,  came  his  gam 
cocks ;  these  aftbrded  a  favorite  pastime  while  he  was  at  Oxford. 
As  other  men  keep  their  studs,  and  are  careful  of  the  pedigree  and 
training  of  their  racers,  so  did  Wilson  watch  with  studious  solici- 
tude over  the  development  and  reputation  of  his  game-birds.  The 
setting  down  of  hens  to  hatch  was  registered  as  duly  and  gravely 
as  an  astronomer  notes  the  transit  of  the  planets;  the  number  of 
eggs,  tlie  day  of  the  month,  and  sometimes  even  the  hour  of  the 
day  being  carefully  specified. | 

In  one  of  the  MS.  books  contoining  the  principal  portion  of  The 
Isle  of  Palms^  I  find  many  of  these  quaint  entries  in  most  eccen- 
tric juxtaposition  to  notes  of  a  very  ditferent  kuid.§     Along  with 

*  Letter  in  Eilitthurgh  Literary  Giizette. 

t  Of  this  there  are  numberless  indieations  in  his  works.  Birds  were  h  8  special  favorites,  but 
he  was  a  jjeneral  lover  of  animals,  beasts,  birds,  and  insects.  Even  that,  to  uiosl  people,  un- 
pleasant creature  the  spider,  was  interesting  to  him ;  and  the  Koctes  contain  sundry  references  to 
his  observations  on  their  habits  "I  love  spiders,"  he  says;  "look  at  the  lineal  descendant  of 
Arachne;  how  beautifully  she  descends  from  the  chair  of  Christopher  North  to  the  lower  regions 
of  our  earth."  See  Works,  vol.  i.,  120 ;  vol.  ii.,  148,  178,  280,  252,  2C2.  Regarding  his  qualifications 
es  a  naturalist,  De  Quincey  writes: — "  Perhaps  you  already  know  from  your  countryman  Audubon, 
that  the  Professor  is  himself  a  naturalist,  and  of  original  merit;  in  fact,  worth  a  score  of  such 
meagre  bookish  naturalists  as  are  formed  in  museums  and  by  seconil-hand  actsof  memorj-;  having 
(like  Audubon)  built  much  of  his  knowledge  upon  personal  observation.  Hence  he  has  two 
great  advantages ;  one,  that  his  knowledge  is  accurate  in  a  very  unusu.al  degree;  and  another, 
that  this  knowledge,  having  grown  up  under  the  inspiration  of  a  real  interest  and  an  unatl'ected 
love  for  its  objects — commencing,  indeed,  at  an  age  when  no  aflfect;ition  in  matters  of  that  nature 
could  exist — has  settled  upon  those  facts  and  circumstances  which  have  a  tr\ie  philosophical 
value:  habits,  predominant  affections,  the  direction  of  instincts,  and  the  compensatory  jiroeesses 
■where  these  happen  to  be  thwarted — on  all  such  topics  he  is  learned  and  full;  whilst,  on  the 
science  of  measurements  and  proportions,  applied  to  dorsal  fins  and  tail-feathers,  and  on  the  exact 
arrangement  of  colors.  &c. — that  petty  upholstery  of  nature,  on  which  books  are  so  tedious  and 
elaborate — not  unconimonlj'  he  is  negligent  or  forgetful." 

X  The  following  are  some  specimens  from  his  meuioranda: 

"Small  Paisley  hen  set  herself  with  no  fewer  th;ui  nine  eggs  on  Mond.iy,  the  6th  of  .July. 
Black  Kdinburgh  hen  was  set  on  Tuesday,  the  23d  of  June,  with  twelve  eggs — middle  of  the 
day.  Lar^'e  Paisley  hen  w.-is  set  on  Wednesday,  the  24th  of  June,  with  twelve  eggs — mi<lillo 
of  the  day ;  one  egg  laid  the  day  after  she  was  set  Red  pullet  in  Josie's  barn  was  set  with 
nine  eggs  on  Thursday,  the  2d  of  July.  Sister  to  the  above,  was  set  with  five  eggs  same  day. 
but  they  had  been  sat  upon  a  d.iy  or  two  before.  Small  black  muffled  hen  set  herself  with 
about  eight  eggs  on  Monday  night,  or  Tuesday  morning,  7th  July." 

§  Side  by  side  with  those  beautiful  lines  beginning — 

"Oh,  Fairy  Child  !  what  can  I  wish  for  thee? 
Like  a  perennial  flow'ret  in.aj''st  thou  be, 
That  spends  its  life  in  beauty  and  in  blisa; 


LIFE    AT    EI.LEKAY.  93 

calculations  of  tlie  number  of  lines  to  bo  allotted  to  various  pro- 
posed poems,  such  as  "St.  Hubert,"  "The  Mauso,"  "The  Oceau 
Queen,"  there  are  elaborate  memoranda  of  the  "  broods  proposed 
for  next  spring."  "  The  spangled  cock,"  and  "  Lord  Derby,"  the 
black  brass-winged  cock,  bred  from  Caradice  with  the  Keswick 
Gray,"  the  "  Red  Liverpool  hen,"  the  "  Paisley  ben,"  large  and 
small,  and  many  other  distinguished  fowls,  take  a  prominent  posi- 
tion in  these  curious  lists.  The  name  of  "Lord  Derby,"  in  partic- 
ular, from  its  frequent  occurrence,  implies  that  that  high-bred 
animal,  doubtless  of  the  Knowsley  stock,  was  one  of  the  prime 
favorites  of  the  establishment.  The  phraseology  and  figures  in 
these  memoranda  are  sonietimes  altogether  unintelligible  to  the 
uninitiated. 

Of  the  many  fields  of  fame  on  which  "  Lord  Derby,"  "  Caradice," 
and  their  fellows  must  have  distinguished  themselves,  there  is  but 
one  brief  record.  It  is  given  by  one  of  a  party  present  (James 
Newby),  who  recollects  "a  main  of  cocks  being  fought  in  the 
drawing-room  at  Elleray,  before  the  flooring  was  laid  down,  and 
its  being  covered  with  sods  for  this  occasion.  The  rival  competi- 
tors were  Mr.  Wilson  and  Mr.  Richard  Watson.  All  the  neigh- 
boring farmers  were  invite<l,  and,  after  the  sport,  entertained  at  a 
genteel  supper  served  from  Mrs.  UUock's.  Wilson  was  the  victor, 
and  Avon  a  handsome  silver  drinking-cui^,  bearing  an  inscription, 
with  date,  etc." 

The  solemnity  of  these  proceedings  illustrates  the  enthusiasm 
with  which  this  sport  was  cultivated  in  those  days  by  such  amateurs 
as  Wilson,  who  really  believed  that  they  were  keeping  up  one  of 
the  characteristic  and  time-honored  institutions  of  the  country.* 

Soft  on  thoo  fall  the  breath  of  time. 

And  still  retain  in  heavenly  clime 
The  bloom  that  charms  in  this" — 
is  ranged  the  following  "List  of  Cocks  for  a  main  with  W.  and  T."  of  which  a  specimen  may 
suffice : — 

1.  A  heavy  cock  from  Dobinson £5    8    0 

2.  "  "     from  Keene 5    8    0 

3.  "  "  "  5    8    0 

4.  Piled  cock,  Oldflold  5    2    0 

"Lord  Derby" comes  in  as  No.  13,  £4  10s.,  and  the  total  makes  up  22  birds.    Of  these  '-13  are 
to  be  chosen  for  the  main,  and  perhaps  two  byes.  j.  w." 

♦  Before  passing  from  the  subject,  I  may  mention  an  amusing  illustration  of  it  showing  that,  at 
a  date  considerably  more  recent  than  that  of  the  above  event,  the  rearing  of  game-cocks  was  zeal- 
ously practised  in  Scotl;in(l  by  some  worthy  gciitlonu'n  of  the  old  school.  One  Sunday,  in  St. 
Johirs  Chapel,  Edinburgh,  an  old  gentleman,  a  friend  of  my  father's,  was  sitting  gravely  iu  his 


94  MEMOm    OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

Wrestling  has  always  been  the  principal  athletic  exercise  in  the 
north  of  England,  particularly  in  Cumberland,  where  it  is  still  prac- 
tised perhaps  more  generally  than  in  any  other  part  of  the  kingdom. 
"It  is  impossible,"  says  the  Professor,  "to  conceive  the  intense  and 
passionate  interest  taken  by  the  whole  northern  population  in  this 
most  rural  and  muscular  amusement.  For  weeks  before  the  great 
Carlisle  annual  contest  nothing  else  is  talked  of  on  road,  field,  flood, 
foot,  or  horseback  ;  we  fear  it  is  thought  of  even  in  church,  which 
we  regret  and  condemn;  and  in  every  little  comfortable  'public' 
"within  a  circle  of  thirty  miles'  diameter,  the  home-brewed  quivers 
in  the  glasses  on  the  oaken  tables  to  knuckles  smiting  the  board,  in 
corroboration  of  the  claims  to  the  championship  of  a  Grahame,  a 
Cass,  a  Laugklen,  Solid  Yaik,  a  Wilson,  or  a  Wightman.  A  polii  i- 
cal  frienl  of  ours,  a  stanch  fellow,  in  passing  through  the  Lakes 
last  autumn,  heard  of  nothing  but  the  contest  for  the  county,  which 
he  had  understood  Avould  lie  between  Lord  Lowther  (the  sitting 
member)  and  Mr.  Brougham.  But,  to  his  sore  perplexity,  he  heard 
the  names  of  new  candidates,  to  him  hitherto  unknown  ;  and  on 
meeting  us  at  that  best  of  inns,  '  White  Lion,'  Bowness,  he  told 
us  with  a  downcast  and  serious  countenance  that  Lord  Lowther 
would  be  ousted,  for  that  the  struggle,  as  tar  as  he  could  learn, 
would  ultimately  be  between  Thomas  Ford  of  Egremont,  and 
Wil  iani  liii-hardson  of  Caldbeck,  men  of  no  landed  property,  and 
probably  radicals  !"* 

During  my  father's  residence  at  Elleray,  and  long  after  he  be- 
came Professor,  he  steadily  patronized  this  manly  amusement,  and 
though,  as  the  historian  of  the  subject,  Litt,f  remarks,  "  he  never 
sported  h.s  tigure  in  the  ring,"  he  was  not  without  skill  and  prac- 
tice in  the  art,  being,  as  an  old  wrestler  declared,  "  a  varra  bad  un 
to  lick,"  which  one  can  readily  believe.  He  gave  prizes  and  belts 
for  the  Ambleside  competitions,  such  as  had  never  been  offered 
before,  and  the  historian  above  mentioned  desciibes  in  glowing 
terms  how  much  the  success  of  the  ainiual  sports  in  the  neighbor- 
hood was  owing  to  his  liberal  encouragement.  In  some  of  his  let- 
scat,  when  n  lady  in  the  same  pew  moved  np,  wishing  to  speak  to  him.    lie  kept  edging  cautiunsly 

away  from  lier.  till  at  last,  as  she  ciiue  nearer,  he  h;istily  muttered  out:  "Sic  yuut,  Misi ,  sit 

yont !     Dinna  yi-  k.-n  ma  pouch  is  fu'  o'  gemm  eggs !" 

*  Blaci-icood,  December,  1823. 

t  Wrestliana  ;  or,  an  /Historical  Aecount  of  Ancient  and  Modem  Wrestling.    By  Williaa 
Litt.     12iui).      .\  l.ic.  ii.ivrn. 


LIVK    AT     LLLEltAY.  95 

ters  iu  after  years,  we  shall  meet  witli  allusions  to  this  subject, 
which  he  consideied  not  unworthy  of  a  special  article  in  Ulackicood. 
Speaking  of  the  beauty  of  the  spectacle  presented  by  the  ring  at 
Carlisle,  he  thus  amusingly  parodied  Wordsworth's  lines  on  a 
hedge-sparrow's  nest,  which,  he  says,  by  a  slight  alteration,  "  eggs 
to  men,  and  so  forth,  become  a  sensible  enough  exclamation  in  such 
a  case:" — 

"  See,  two  strong  men  are  struggling  there,* 
Few  visions  have  I  seen  more  fair. 
Or  many  prospects  of  delight 
More  pleasing  than  that  simple  sight." 

These  imperfect  reminiscences  of  my  father's  out-door  life  at 
Elleray  may  be  apj^ropriately  closed  by  an  extract  from  a  clever 
little  work  recently  published. f  The  author,  Mr.  Waugh,  in  his 
wanderings  in  Westmoreland,  encountered  at  Wastdale  Head,  in 
the  person  of  the  innkeeper  there,  one  of  the  most  characteristic 
specimens  that  could  well  be  found  of  a  genuine  old  Laker,  William 
Ritson.  "  I  was  most  interested,"  says  the  writer,  "  in  Ritson's  anec- 
dotes of  famous  men  who  visited  Wastdale.  He  had  wandered  many 
a  day  with  Professor  Wilson,  Wordsworth,  De  Quincey,  and  others. 
Ritson  had  been  a  famous  wrestler  in  his  youth,  and  had  won  many 
a  country  belt  in  Cumberland.  He  once  wrestled  with  Wilson,  and 
threw  him  twice  out  of  three  foils.  But  he  owned  the  Professor 
Avas  '  a  varra  bad  un  to  lick.'  Wilson  beat  him  at  jumping.  He 
could  jump  twelve  yards  in  three  jumps,  with  a  great  stone  in  each 
hand.  Ritson  could  only  manage  eleven  and  three  quaiters.  '  T' 
first  time  'at  Professor  Wilson  cam  to  Wastd'le  Head,'  said  Ritson, 
'  he  hed  a  tent  set  up  in  a  field,  an'  he  gat  it  weel  stock't  wi'  bread 
an'  beef,  an'  cheese,  an'  rum,  an'  ale,  an'  sic  like.  Then  he  gedder't 
up  my  granfadder,  an'  Thomas  Tyson,  an'  Isaac  Fletcher,  an' 
Joseph  Stable,  an'  aad  Robert  Grave,  an'  some  mair,  an'  there  Avas 
gay  deed  amang  em.  Then,  nowt  would  sarrn,  bud  he  mun  hev  a 
boat,  an'  they  mun  all  hev  a  sail.  Well,  when  they  gat  into  t' 
boat,  he  tell't  un  to  be  particklar  careful,  for  he  was  liable  to  git 
giddy  in  t'  head,  an'  if  yan  ov  his  giddy  fits  sud  chance  to  cum  on, 
he  mud  happen  tummle  into  t'  watter.     Well  that  pleased  'em  all 

*  In  the  original — 

"  See,  five  blue  eggs  are  shining  there." 
t  Ramhles  in  the  Lake  Cowniry.    By  Kdwin  Waugh.    12uio.    Lon(!(iM.  Whittaker 


96  MEMOIR   OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

gaily  Aveel,  an'  they  said  they'd  tak  varra  girt  care  on  him.  Then 
he  leaned  back  an'  called  cot  that  they  mun  pull  quicker.  So  they 
did,  and  what  does  Wilson  do  then  but  topples  ower  eb'iu  ov  his 
back  i'  t'  watter  with  a  splash.  Then  thei-e  was  a  girt  cry — "  'Eh, 
Mr.  Wilson's  i'  t'  watter  !"  an  yan  click't,  an'  auudder  click't,  but 
nean  o'  them  could  get  hod  on  him,  an'  there  was  sic  a  scrowe  as 
nivver.  At  last,  yan  o'  them  gat  him  round  t'  neck  as  he  popped 
up  at  teal  o'  t'  boat,  an'  Wilson  taad  him  to  kep  a  good  hod,  for 
he  mud  happen  slip  liim  agean.  But  what,  it  was  nowt  but  yan 
ov  his  bit  o'  pranks,  he  was  snurkin'  an'  lauglun'  all  t'  time.  Wil- 
son was  a  fine,  gay,  girt-hearted  fellow,  as  Strang  as  a  lion,  an'  as 
lish  as  a  trout,  an'  he  hed  sic  antics  as  nivver  man  hed.  What- 
ivver  ye  sed  tull  him  ye'd  get  yowr  change  back  for  it  gaily  soon. 
.  .  .  Aa  remember,  there  was  a  "  Murry  Neet"  at  Wastd'le  Head 
that  varra  time,  an'  Wilson  an'  t'  aad  parson  was  there  amang  t' 
rest.  When  they'd  gotten  a  bit  on,  Wilson  med  a  sang  aboot  t' 
parson.  He  med  it  reight  off  o'  t'  stick  end.  He  began  wi'  t' 
parson  first,  then  he  gat  to  t'  Pope,  an'  then  he  turned  it  to  t' 
devil,  an'  sic  like,  till  he  hed  'em  fillin'  off  their  cheers  wi'  fun  1' 
parson  was  quite  astonished,  an'  rayder  vex't  an'  all,  but  at  last  he 
burst  oot  laughin'  wi'  t'  rest.  He  w'as  like.  Naabody  could  stand 
it.  .  .  .  T'  seam  neet  there  was  yan  o'  their  wives  cum  to  fetch 
her  husband  beam,  an'  she  was  rayder  ower  Strang  i'  t'  tung  wi' 
him  afore  t'  heal  comp'ny.  Well,  he  took  it  all  i'  good  pairt,  but 
as  he  went  away  he  shouted  oot  t'  aad  minister,  'Od  dang  ye,  par- 
son, it  wor  ye  at  teed  us  two  tegidder  !  ...  It  Avas  a'  life  an'  mnrth 
amang  us,  as  lang  as  Professor  Wilson  was  at  Wastd'le  Head.'  " 

In  the  same  year  that  Wilson  settled  at  Elleray,  an  agreeable 
addition  was  made  to  the  society  of  the  neighborhood  by  tiie  ar- 
rival of  a  family  of  the  name  of  Penny,  who  took  up  their  abode 
at  G.ale  House,  Ambleside.  The  Misses  Penny  were  the  daughters 
of  a  Liverpool  merchant,  and  removed  to  Windermere  for  the  sake 
of  its  proximity  to  the  residence  of  their  eldest  sister,  who  had 
been  married  for  some  years  to  Mr.  James  Penny  Machell,  of  Hol- 
low Oak  and  Penny  Bridge.  Wilson  soon  became  acquainted  with 
these  ladies,  and  an  intimacy  gradually  sprung  up  with  the  fair 
inhabitants  of  Gale  House,  which  by  and  by  led  to  fretpient  men- 
tion of  his  name  in  the  correspondence  of  Miss  Jane  Penny. 
Writing  in  girlish  confidence  to  a  friend  who  has  sent  her  a  piece 


LIFE    Al    El.LEKAY,  07 

of  dress,  slie  informs  her  that  "  the  jacket  lias  been  much  admired; 
I  wore  it  at  a  ball  at  Kendal,  and  there  was  only  one  like  it  in 
the.  room — that  was  worn  by  Lady  Lonsdale;  it  will  always  remind 
me  of  one  of  the  pleasantest  evenings  I  ever  spent.  I  danced  with 
Mr.  Wilson  ;  he  is  the  only  one  of  my  partners  worth  mentioning." 

It  is  not  very  difficult  to  perceive  why  it  was  one  of  the  "  plea- 
santest evenings"  ever  spent. 

A  ball  or  party  seldom  took  ))lace  at  Ambleside  or  elsewhere  in 
the  neighborhood,  at  which  Mr.  Wilson  and  Miss  Jane  Penny  were 
not  present.  De  Quincey,  speaking  of  the  gayeties  at  Low  Brathay, 
the  residence  of  his  friend  Cliarles  Lloyd,  says  that  at  one  of  the 
social  gatherings  there  he  "  saw  Wilson  in  circumstances  of  ani- 
mation, and  buoyant  with  youthful  spirits.  .  .  .  He,  by  the  way, 
was  the  best  male  dancer  (not  professional)  I  have  ever  seen.  .  .  . 
Here  also  danced  the  future  wife  of  Professor  Wilson,  Miss  Jane 
P[enny],  at  that  time  the  leading  belle  of  the  Lake  country." 
They  were,  undoubtedly,  a  couple  of  very  imcommon  personal  at- 
tractions. A  spectator  at  a  ball  given  in  Liverpool  in  those  days, 
relates  that  when  Mr.  Wilson  entered  the  room  with  Miss  Penny 
on  his  arm,  the  dancers  stopped  and  cheered  them,  in  mere  ad- 
miration of  their  appearance. 

Another  extract  from  a  letter  of  Miss  Penny  gives  some  furtlier 
mformation  about  Mr.  Wilson.  There  had  been  a  regatta  at  Win- 
dermere : — 

"  It  proved  universally  pleasant.  I  think  I  never  enjoyed  any 
tiling  more  than  I  did  that  week.  The  day  of  the  regatta  we  spent 
the  morning  at  Mr.  Bolton's,  Storr's  Hall,  and  sailed  upon  the  lake 
the  greater  part  of  the  day.  We  had  the  honor  of  being  steered 
by  a  real  midshipman,  a  strikingly  fine  young  man  of  the  name  of 
Fairer.  Mr.  Wilson  gave  us  a  ball  at  the  Inn  in  the  evening.  I 
had  the  honor  of  opening  it  with  him,  and  of  course  I  spent  a 
chariiungly  delightful  evening.  We  are  likely  to  have  a  most  de- 
lightful acquisition  to  our  society  this  winter  in  Mrs.  and  ]\Iiss  Wil- 
son, mother  and  sister  to  our  favorite.  They  are  very  nice  people 
indeed.  I  think  Mrs.  Wilson  one  of  the  finest  and  most  ladylike 
women  I  have  seen  for  a  long  time.  They  mean  to  be  at  EUeray 
all  winter,  which  will  make  it  very  jileasant  to  us.  I  hope  we  shall 
see  a  great  deal  of  them.  Mr.  Wilson  is  fhrting  with  a  pietty  little 
widow  who  lives  in  Kendal.     She  is  generally  admired  by  tht;  male 


98  MEMOm   OF   JOIIX    WILSON. 

part  of  creation,  Lut  not  by  our  sex.  I  think  her  appeannce  is 
very  pretty,  particularly  her  figure,  but  I  think  her  deficient  in 
femiuine  pi-opriety  and  modesty.  Her  husband  has  been  dead  some 
years ;  she  was  married  at  fourteen,  and  is  still  qiite  a  girl  in  ap- 
pearance. I  don't  know  whether  ]Mr.  Wilson's  attentions  to  her 
will  end  in  a  marriage,  but  I  hope  not,  for  his  sake.  I  think  he  is 
deserving  a  very  superior  woman." 

There  is  a  pretty  touch  of  female  character  about  this  relation ; 
the  evident  penchant  for  Mr.  Wilson,  the  reserved  manner  of  speak- 
ing of  him,  the  slight  grudge,  if  so  it  may  be  called,  against  the 
"little  widow,"  the  constant  recurrence  to  his  name,  the  interest 
taken  in  those  belonging  to  him,  all  declare  very  plainly  how  much 
tendresse  there  lay  in  the  wish,  "he  desei'ves  a  very  superior 
woman."     And  most  truly  did  he  obtain  one. 

The  flirting  with  the  "  little  widow"  was  but  the  amusement  of 
idle  hours,  and  Wilson  had  now  begun  seriously  to  feel  the  want, 
as  he  called  it  himself,  of  "an  anchor,"  without  which,  he  said,  he 
should  "  keep  beating  about  the  great  sea  of  life  to  very  little  pur- 
pose." A  closer  intimacy  with  Miss  Jane  Penny  revealed  qualities 
more  precious  than  those  Avhich  shine  most  in  the  light  of  ball- 
rooms, and  he  found  that  "  the  belle  of  the  lake  district"  was  also 
such  a  woman  as  was  Avorthy  of  his  whole  heart's  love,  and  wanted 
no  quality  to  fit  her  for  giving  happiness  and  dignity  to  his  life.  It 
took  some  time,  however,  before  his  mind  settled  down  to  this  con- 
clusion. The  image  of  Margaret  still  rose  before  him  tenderly  in 
his  solitary  hours :  he  had  as  yet  found  no  w^oman's  heart  in  which 
he  could  confide  so  utterly  as  he  had  done  in  hers.  Among  other 
projects  to  divert  his  thoughts,  he  meditated  an  expediiion  into 
Spain  along  with  Blair  and  De  Quincey ;  and  in  the  course  of  the 
year  1809,  he  and  the  former  occupied  themselves  for  some  time 
assiduously  in  the  study  of  Spanish,  in  order  to  qualify  themselves 
for  enjoying  the  journey.  The  intelligence  of  Bonaparte's  fresh 
descent  upon  that  country  caused  the  breaking  oflE"  alike  of  their 
plan  and  their  studies. 

The  following  letter,  addressed  about  this  time  to  his  friend  Mr. 
Harden,  who  was  about  to  proceed  to  Edinburgh  to  edit  the  Calc- 
donian  Mercury^  gives  some  idea  of  the  state  of  his  mind  an<l 
prospects : — 

*  Mr.  Allan  .tlie  proprietor,  was  Mr.  Hiir<len"s  f:ither-in-Iaw. 


LIFE    AT    ELLERAY.  99 

"My  dear  Harden: — I  received  your  interesting  letter  this 
morning  about  an  hour  ago,  and  cannot  delay  answering  it  for  a 
single  day,  deeply  concerned  as  I  feel  myself  in  e\ery  thing  that  re- 
gards your  happiness.  That  you  Jire  to  leave  the  clouds  and  moun- 
tains of  this  our  delightful  land,  gives  me,  as  far  as  my  selfish  emo- 
tions go,  much  real  pain.  I  need  not  say  how  many  happy  days  I 
have  passed  at  Brathay,  aiul  how  affectionately  I  regard  the  family 
living  within  its  walls.  Our  friendship,  which  I  fear  not,  in  spite 
of  absence  or  distance,  will  continue  with  unabated  sincerity,  was 
voluntary  on  both  sides;  and,  during  the  few  years  we  have  known 
each  other,  neither  of  us  has  found  cause  to  repent  of  the  affection 
bestowed.  That  the  determination  you  have  formed  is  in  all  re- 
spects right,  I  firmly  believe,  and  the  consciousness  of  having  in 
part  sacrificed  enjoyments  so  dear  to  you,  for  the  sake  of  those  you 
tenderly  love,  will  no  doubt  forever  secure  your  happiness. 

"  After  all,  you  will  appear  to  me  in  the  light  of  a  distant  neigh- 
bor, and  when  you  have  leisure  to  come  to  your  beloved  and  beau- 
teous lakes,  if  the  smoke  of  Elleray  is  on  the  air,  you  know  Avhere 
you  and  yours  will  experience  an  affectionate  welcome. 

"That  you  will  find  the  paper  a  good  concern  there  is  no  doubt; 
and,  at  the  same  time,  I  cannot  see  that  there  will  be  any  thing  very 
irksome  in  it.  Living  at  this  distance,  and  being  no  very  vehement 
admirer  of  daily  politics,  I  fear  it  will  not  be  often  in  my  power  to 
give  you  effectual  assistance.  Any  thing  I  can  do  Avill  at  all  times 
be  cheerfully  communicated.  And,  in  the  first  place,  a  copy  of  the 
paper  will  not  be  amiss.  Please  mark  what  are  your  lucubrations. 
Of  Oxford  })olitics  I  neither  know  much  nor  care  a  great  deal.  Ox- 
ford has  long  been  sunk  beneath  the  love  or  admiration  of  thought- 
ful men,  in  spite  of  all  her  magnificence  and  all  her  learning.  The 
contest  has  ere  now  been  decided,  though  I  have  not  heard  the  re- 
sult. If  I  find  that  any  thing  interesting  can  be  said  on  the  election 
of  the  Chancellor,*  I  shall  transmit  it  to  you  in  a  frank,  and  you 
can  either  burn  it  or  print  it,  as  you  think  proper. 

"On  this  subject,  therefore,  let  me  conclude  with  every  warm 
wish  for  your  success  ;  and  may  your  residence  in  Edinburgh  afford 
every  enjoyment  you  can  desire. 

"As  for  myself,  all  my  plans  of  delight  and  instruction,  at  least 
on  one  great  subject,  are  for  the  present  abandoned.     It  would  be 

*  Lord  Oivu villi'. 


100  MEMOIR    OF   JunN    WILSON. 

tedious  to  enter  into  a  detail  of  all  unlucky  causes  which  have  occa- 
sioned tliis.  Such  as  they  are,  they  could  not  in  the  present  junc- 
ture be  avoided;  and  I  have  at  least  the  satisfaction  to  know,  lh:u 
my  plans  failed  not  from  any  want  of  zeal  or  determination  on  my 
part. 

"  I  have  not,  however,  by  any  means  relinquished  my  scheme  of 
going  to  Spain,  and  whether  we  shall  meet  this  summer  or  not 
seems  very  doubtful.  I  agree  with  you  that  travelling  will  make 
me,  for  some  years  at  least,  happier  than  any  thing  else.  The 
knowledge  it  bestows  can  be  acquired  by  no  other  means,  and,  un- 
less a  man  be  married,  it  seems  vei-y  absurd  to  remain,  during  the 
prime  of  his  youth,  in  one  little  corner  of  the  world,  beautiful  and 
glorious  as  that  corner  may  be.  I  do  not,  I  hope,  want  either  bal- 
last or  cargo  or  sail,  but  I  do  want  an  anchor  most  confoundedly, 
and,  without  it,  shall  keep  beating  about  the  great  sea  of  life  to 
very  little  purpose.  Since  I  left  Edinburgh,  I  have  had  a  very  dear 
old  friend  staying  with  me,  and  we  have  studied  to  the  wonder  of 
the  three  counties.  AVe  hnve  made  some  progress  in  Spanish, 
though  not  much,  the  perplexity  attending  our  change  of  scheme 
having  occasioned  some  little  interruption.  I  have  written  m:my 
poems,  some  of  considerable  length,  which  I  may  some  night  or 
other  repeat  to  you  over  a  social  glass,  or  a  twinkling  fire. 

"A  little  elegy  I  wrote  on  poor  little  Margaret  Harden*  last 
spring,  and  which  I  promised  to  send  to  your  mother,  has  been 
lost.  I  shall,  however,  endeavor  to  recollect  it  the  first  time  I  can 
vividly  recall  the  melancholy  event  that  gave  rise  to  it.  Let  jt  be 
considered  as  the  afiectionate  sympathy  of  a  friend.  I  am,  you 
know,  the  worst  correspondent  breathing  ;  yet  to  hear  from  you 
often  and  minutely,  as  to  your  pleasures  and  occupations,  will 
always  aiford  me  genuine  satisfaction. 

"  While  I  write  this,  your  paintings  of  Stavely  and  the  Brathay 
smile  sweetly  upon  me,  though  all  without  doors  is  wihi  and  stormy, 
it  being  the  most  comj)lele  hurricane  I  ever  saw  at  Elleray.  The 
windows  of  the  i)arior  have,  during  the  night,  been  almost  entirely 
destroyed,  and  the  floor  is  literally  swimming.  I  cannot  conclude 
Avithout  again  observing  what  pleasure  I  shall  have  in  hearing  from 
you,  especially  while  you  are  just  entering  on  such  a  new  scheme 
of  life." 

*  A  dnnshter  of  his  frieud. 


LIFK    AT    IXLEKAY.  KU 

About  the  same  time  he  took  an  excursion  into  Scotland.  Be- 
fore starting,  he  addressed  De  Quincey  as  follows : — 

"My  dear  De  Quincey: — I  am  obliged  to  leave  this  to-morrow 
for  Glasgow.  I  therefore  trouble  you  with  this  note  in  case  you 
should  think  of  coming  over  during  my  absence.  I  expect  to  re- 
turn to  Elleray  in  a  few  days,  yet  there  is  an  uncertainty  attending 
every  motion  of  mine,  and  possibly  of  yours  also.  If  you  are  ready 
for  a  start,  I  will  go  Avith  you  to-morrow  on  foot  through  Kentmere 
and  Ilawesdale  to  Penrith,  and  on  Monday  you  can  easily  return  by 
Ulleswater  to  Grasmere.  The  fine  weather  may  induce  you.*  If 
you  feel  a  wish  to  look  at  Glasgow  and  Edinburgh,  would  you  take 
a  trip  with  me  on  the  top  of  the  coach  ?  I  will  pledge  myself  to 
return  with  you  within  eight  days.  If  so,  or  if  you  agree  to  the 
first  plan  only,  my  pony  or  horse  is  with  my  servant  who  carries 
this,  and  you  can  come  here  upon  it.  I  hope  you  will  do  so. 
There  is  no  occasion  for  wardrobe.  I  take  nothing  with  me,  and 
we  can  get  a  change  of  linen.     The  expense  will  be  small  to  us. 

"  Yours  ever  affectionately, 

"JouN  Wilson. 

"  Elleray,  Saturday,  1809." 

Of  this  pedestrian  excursion  we  have  a  glimpse  in  the  biographi- 
cal notice  of  his  friend  John  Fiulay,  with  whom  they  spent  a  few 
hours  at  Moffat.f 

I  now  come  to  s})eak  of  his  poetry,  and  I  am  fortunately  enabled, 
from  the  preservation  of  his  letters  to  his  frit'nd  Mr.  John  Sinitli, 
the  Glasgow  publisher,  to  give  some  account  of  his  first  publication, 
for  which  the  materials  should  otherwise  have  been  wanting.  The 
first  trace  I  find  in  MS.  of  poems  afterwards  published  is  in  the  year 
1807.  A  small  note-book  contains  a  considerable  nuiaber  of  son- 
nets, composed  in  the  autunni  of  that  year,  a  selection  from  which 
a])peared  among  the  miscellaneous  pieces  appended  to  T/ie  Isle  of 
JPcdms.      His  commonplace-books  contain  the  whole  of  the  latter 

*  The  proposal  to  walk  over  so  much  ground  proclaims  De  Quincey  to  have  been  no  weak  pe- 
destrian. Altlioush  he  was  a  man  considerably  under  hei-rht  and  slender  of  form,  he  was  capable 
of  underiroing  great  fatigue,  and  look  constant  exercise.  The  very  fact  of  his  being  a  walking 
companion  of  Wilson's  speaks  well  for  his  strength,  which  was  not  unfrequently  tA.^ed  when 
each  a  tryst  was  kept  Perhaps,  in  later  years,  of  the  two  men  he  preserved  his  activity  oiore 
entire. 

t  Blacbicood,  vol.  ii.,  p.  ISS. 


102  MEMOIR    OF   JOHN    AVILSON. 

poem,  parts  of  it  apparently  written  down  for  ilie  first  time,  and 
other  parts  being  final  copies  of  the  work  as  sent  for  revision  to  his 
friend  JJl.iir.  The  alterations  in  tlie  first  draught  are  more  of  entire 
passages  than  of  phrases.  It  is  evident  that  he  never  composed 
without  first  forming  a  clear  conception  of  what  he  iutended  to 
embody  in  each  particular  poem.  The  prose  otitlines  of  some  pieces 
in  these  books  are  sometimes  so  full  as  to  require  only  their  transla- 
tion into  verse  to  entitle  them  to  the  name  of  poems.  Of  this  the 
sketch  entitled  "  Red  Tarn,"  already  given,  may  be  taken  as  a 
specimen.  The  contents  of  these  books  show,  in  fact,  that  ])oetry 
was  not  a  mere  amusement  with  him,  but  a  serious  study,  and  that 
he  had  in  those  days  very  extensive  plans  of  composition,  on  which 
he  entered  with  an  earnest  desire  to  use  well  the  gifts  with  which 
he  had  been  endowed.* 

His  first  communication  on  the  subject  to  Mr.  Smith  is  from 
Edinburgh,  and  is  as  follows  : — 

"  Edinburgh,  53  Queen  Street, 
Wednesday  Evening,  December  13,  1810. 
"  Dear  Sir  : — I  have,  during  the  last  three  years,  written  a  num- 
ber of  poems  on  various  subjects,  from  which  I  intend  to  form  a 
selection  for  the  press.  The  principal  poem,  entitled  lite  Isle  of 
JPalms^  which  will  give  its  name  to  the  volume,  is  descriptive  of  sea 
and  island  scenery,  and  contains  a  love-story.  It  is  nearly  2,000 
lines.  The  second  is  entitled  "The  Anglers' Tent."  It  contains 
nearly  f  )rty  stanzas  of  seventeen  lines  each,  in  the  same  measure  as 
Collins'  Ode  on  the  Superstitions  of  the  Highlands.  The  third  is  a 
blank-verse  poem  upon  Oxford.  The  rest  it  is  needless  to  paiticu- 
larize.  I  can  furnish  as  many  poems  as  will  make  a  volume  of  .350 
or  400  pages.  As  you  lun'e  an  opportunity  of  knowing  the  prob- 
able merit  of  any  works  of  mine  from  Finlay,  Blair,  and  others,  I 
offer  my  poems  in  the  first  place  to  you.     In  a  publication  of  such 

*  Dr.  Blitir,  in  a  letter,  has  expressed  to  me  the  following  opinion: — "I  have  been  always  at 
a  loss  to  know  why  your  father  did  not  follow  further  his  youthful  impulsion  towards  verse. 
I  thought  him  endowed  beyond  all  the  youthful  poets  of  his  day,  and  in  some  powers  beyond 
any  of  his  contemporaries.  I  believe  he  had  more  of  absolute  deep  and  glowinjr  enthusiasm 
than  any  of  them.  He  might  require  a  severe  intellectual  <liscipline  and  learned  study  to  balance 
that  natural  tire  and  energy  for  the  composition  of  a  great  work.  J5ut  he  had  both  will  and 
ability  for  severe  thought,  and  he  had  the  c^'ii)acity  for  searching  and  e.om[irehensive  inquiry, 
and  such  a  wonderful  iiower  of  storing  materials  and  of  managing  them  to  his  use,  that  I  never 
could,  nor  can  I  now,  understand  why,  loving  poetry  as  he  did,  he  left  it.  He  had  a  flood  of 
eloquence  which  not  one  of  the  other  poets  who  have  lived  in  his  day  had  or  has."  This  is  thu 
opiuion  of  the  man  most  familiar  with  my  father's  miud. 


LIFE    AT    ELLEKAY.  103 

magnitude,  I  feel  my  own  charactei'  deeply  concerned,  and  will 
therefore  insert  nothing  that  does  not  please  myself.  The  volume 
might  in  size  resemble  the  octavo  edition  of  the  Lady  of  the  Lake, 
and  sell  for  the  same  price. 

"If  you  are  willing  to  purchase  from  me  the  coi)yright  of  4U0 
pages,  such  as  I  have  described,  I  am  ready  to  listen  to  your  terms. 
I  may,  without  presumption,  say  that  at  Oxford  my  name  would 
sell  many  copies,  nor  am  I  unknown  either  in  Cambridge  or  London. 
But  you  will  judge  for  yourself  I  am  not  a  man  who  would 
thoughtlessly  risk  his  reputation  by  a  trivial  or  careless  publication. 

"I  would  prefer  disposing  entirely  of  the  copyright  to  any  other 
plan,  as  I  w'ish  to  be  free  from  all  trouble  or  anxiety  about  it.  In 
the  case  of  a  first  publication  I  know  that  booksellers  ought  to  be 
cautious.  But  I  am  now  past  the  days  of  boyhood,  and  I  feel  that 
I  shall  come  before  the  world,  if  not  in  the  fulness  of  my  strength, 
at  least  with  few  youthful  weaknesses. 

"As  I  am  uncertain  of  being  soon  in  Glasgow,  I  shall  expect  an 
answer  to  this  as  quickly  as  convenient  to  yourself  Should  we 
agree  about  this  volume,  I  have  other  works  in  contemplation  that 
I  know  will  attract  pubUc  notice.     I  am,  sir,  your  obedient  servant, 

"  John  \yiLSON." 

A  few  days  subsequently  he  replied  to  Mr.  Smith's  proposals;  part 
of  which  was  that  the  work  should  be  printed  by  Ballantyne  : — 

"  My  dear  Sir  : — Your  proposals  seem  perfectly  reasonable  and 
honorable,  and  I  have  no  objection  to  agree  to  them.  I  have  to 
mention,  however,  that  it  will  be  impossible  for  me  to  have  my 
poems  ready  for  publication  as  soon  as  you  wish.  I  was  indeed 
ignorant  of  the  season  of  publication,  and  also  imagined  that  the 
printing  would  take  much  more  time  than  I  understand  it  will  do. 

"  For  a  few  months  to  come  my  time  will  not,  I  fear,  be  at  my  own 
'  disposal ;  for  besides  several  important  engagements,  I  have  been 
very  unwell  lately,  and  may  perhaps  be  obliged  to  take  a  short  voy- 
age somewhere.  Considering  all  these  circumstances,  it  would 
Keem  that  the  publication  of  my  poems  must  be  deferred  for  a 
considerable  time.  Perhaps,  on  tlie  whole,  this  may  be  of  ad\au- 
tage. 

"I  cannot  believe  that  a  volume  of  that  size  could  be  printed  in 
less  than  four  months  from  tlie  commencement  of  [)rinting  it.     You 


lOi  MEMOIR    OF   JOHN    ^^^LSON. 

will  consider,  therefore,  of  this  hasty  note,  and  arrange  matters  with 
Ballantyne,  etc.,  ete.     I  am,  youi's  truly, 

"  JoHx  Wilson." 

In  April,  1811,  he  writes  from  EUeray.  He  is  on  the  eve  of  being 
married,  and  wants  all  the  ready  money  he  can  get.  He  proposes, 
therefore,  to  dispense  with  some  of  those  standard  works  "  which 
no  gentleman's  lil>rary  should  be  without," — Annual  Registers,  Par- 
liamentary Histories,  Statistical  Accounts,  best  editions  of  various 
Clansics  in  Russia,  etc.,  etc. 

"Elleray,  Tuesday  morning  [April,  1811). 

*'  My  dear  Sir  : — Since  my  arrival  here  I  have  been  tolerably 
busy,  and  have  written  several  small  poems  that  please  me,  and  it  is 
to  be  hoped  will  produce  the  same  etfect  on  several  thousand  of  the 
judicious  part  of  the  reading  world. 

"  My  second  longest  poem  I  have  also  given  the  last  polish  to, 
and  it  now  looks  very  imposingly.  In  a  week  or  two,  when  the 
spring  has  a  little  advanced,  I  shall  emigrate  to  the  'Isle  of  Palms,' 
and  buUd  myself  a  cottage  there,  both  elegant  and  commodious,  and 
subject  to  no  taxation.  I  have  this  day  written  to  Blair  about  Fin- 
lay,  and  expect  to  hear  idl  particulars  from  him.  If  any  thing  further 
hao  occurred  about  his  afiairs  in  Glasgow,  I  should  like  to  hear  from 
you. 

"  The  principal  object  of  my  present  letter  is  to  speak  to  you  about 
some  books  I  Avish  to  part  Mith,  being  either  tired  of  them  or  hav- 
ing duplicates. 

"The  following  is  a  list  of  some  of  the  best.  If  they  suit  you, 
jou  will  take  them,  or  any  part  of  them,  at  your  own  price,  most 
of  them  being  books  that  you  could  sell  easily.  .  .  . 

"Out  of  these,  I  think,  you  might  find  some  that  might  suit  you 
well.  I  go  to  Liverpool  to-morrow,  to  James  Penny,  Esq.,  Seel 
street,  where  I  should  like  to  hear  from  you  on  receipt  of  this.  You 
might  make  something  upon  them,  and  I  be  enabled  to  take  a  little 
longer  mari-iage  jaunt,  in  these  hard  times  money  being  scarce. 

"On  my  return,  I  shall  send  you  some  portion  of  my  manuscript, 
of  which,  if  you  make  any  use  beyond  yourself,  I  don't  fear  it  wiil 
be  judicious.  Remember  that  few  are  entitled  to  pass  judgment  on 
poetry.     I  am,  dear  sir,  yours  very  truly,  Joiix  Wilson. 

"  P.  S. — Should  you  ever  publish  any  edition  of  any  poet,  an*l 
wish  for  preface,  etc.,  you  know  where  to  apply." 


»L\JiKIAGE.  105 


CHAPTER  VI. 

vlARRIAGE. "the     ISLE     OF     PALM  S." 

1811-1815. 

On  t)  e  11  til  of  May,  1811,  the  following  letter  was  written  by 
Wilson  •  o  his  friend  Mr.  Findlay  : — 

"Ambleside,  May  11,  ISII. 
"  Dearest  Robert  : — I  was  this  morning  married  to  Jane  Penny, 
and  douDt  not  of  receiving  your  blessing,  which,  from  your  broth- 
erly heart,  will  delight  me,  and  doubtless  not  be  unheard  by  the 
Almighty.  She  is  in  gentleness,  innocence,  sense,  and  feeling,  sur- 
passed by  no  woman,  and  has  remained  j)ure,  as  from  her  M.iker's 
hands.  Surely  if  I  know  myself  I  am  not  deficient  in  kindness  and 
gentleness  of  nature,  and  will  to  my  dying  hour  love,  honor,  and 
worship  her.  It  is  a  mild  and  peaceful  day,  and  my  spirit  feels 
calm  and  blest.  You  know  what  it  is  to  possess  a  beloved  woman's 
affections,  and  such  possession  now  makes  me  return  grateful  thanks 
to  my  God,  and  remember  former  afflictions  with  resignation  and 
gratitude.  On  this  tranquil  day  of  nature  and  delight,  to  think  of 
my  earliest,  best,  oh!  best-beloved  friend,  I  may  s:iy,  adds  a  solemn 
feeling  to  my  dreams,  and  your  most  aifectionate  heart  will,  I  am 
sure,  be  made  glad  to  hear  such  words  from  my  lips.  In  my  heart 
you  will  ever  live  among  images  of  overpowering  tenderness,  and 
to  hear  from  you  when  convenient  will  ever  gladden  him  who  never 
felt,  thought,  or  uttered  word  to  you  but  those  of  affection  and 
gratitude.  God  bless  you,  my  dearest  Robert,  your  wife,  and  all 
that  you  love !  "  I  am  your  kindest  brother, 

"  John  "Wilson." 

I  don't  know  if  any  man  ever  conveyed  the  intimation  of  iiis 
marriage  in  terms  more  unaffectedly  beautiful  than  these.  In  their 
quiet  depth  of  natural  affection  that  inner  spirit  is  truly  reveided, 
which,  amid  all  varieties  of  enei'gy  and  enjoyment,  ever  found  its 
most  congenial  Hie  among  the  tender  s;mctities  of  home,  and  con- 
nected its  highest  delights  with  a  genuine  sense  of  religion.    Thence- 


106  MEMO  IK   OF   JOHN   "VN'ILSOX. 

fortb  his  life  had  a  deeper  purpose,  and  his  home  was  a  place  of 
pure  sunshine,  whatever  clouds  darkened  the  sky  without.  Of  her 
who  made  it  so,  it  may  be  said,  she  was 

"A  blooming  lady — a  conspicuous  flower ; 
Admired  for  beauty,  for  her  sweetness  praised ; 
Whom  he  had  sensibility  to  love, 
Ambition  to  attempt,  and  skill  to  win;" 

one  in  whose  gentleness  and  goodness  he  found  long  years  of 
happiness. 

His  energies  were  not  called  forth  by  the  mere  humor  of  the 
hour  to  2)rove  Avhat  they  were,  but  by  the  solemn  realization  of 
the  liigh  purpose  for  which  they  were  given. 

He  did  not  make  the  usual  wedding  tour,  but  took  his  biide 
directly  to  his  cottage  home.  The  fascination  of  his  new  liie  <lid 
not,  however,  engross  him  to  the  exclusion  of  work,  nuicli 
temptation  as  there  was  to  a  blissful  idleness  in  his  lot.  The  vari- 
ous expensive  tastes  he  indulged,  as  well  as  his  generous  habits, 
could  not  have  been  so  constantly  exercised,  had  he  not  been  in  the 
enjoyment  of  a  large  fortune.  Xo  doubt  he  lived  both  at  Oxford 
and  Elleray  with  the  free  munificence  of  one  who  luidersiocd  the 
charms  of  hospitality,  and  the  satisfaction  of  bestowhig  pleasure 
upon  others,  but  at  neither  period  was  he  wastefid  or  careless  of 
money.  At  the  time  of  his  marriage,  therefore,  he  was  in  easy 
circumstances,  and  his  wife's  fortune,  added  to  his  own,  made  him 
a  rich  man.  There  was  no  care  fur  the  future ;  worldly  matters 
Avere  in  a  smiling  condition  ;  every  thing  around  the  young  couple 
Avas  coideitr  de  rose.  Days  passed  away  quickly  ;  nothing  disturbed 
the  life  of  love  and  peace  spent  in  that  beautifid  cottage  home. 
Time  brought  with  it  only  increase  of  happiness.  Children  were 
born ;  and  to  live  at  Elleray  forever  was  the  design  of  the  poet, 
who  loved  to  look  upon 

"  The  glorious  sun 
Tliat  made  "Winander  one  wide  wave  of  gold, 
When  first  in  transport  from  the  mountain-top 
He  hailed  the  heavenly  vision." 

Tliese  halcyon  days  were  ere  long  interrupted  by  misfortune. 
But  though  that  stern  schooling  was  necessary  to  the  full  develop- 
ment of  Wilson's  character  and  powers,  he  had  already,  as  we  have 


'"THE   ISLE    OB    PALMS."  107 

seen,  determined  to  give  the  world  some  fruit  of  his  meditative 
liours  during  these  apparently  idle  years  at  Elleray. 

Three  months  after  his  marriage  he  again  addressed  Mr.  Smith 
on  the  subject  of  his  poems : — 

"Elleray,  August  11,  1811. 

"  It  is  now  so  long  since  you  have  heard  from  me,  that  I  dare  say 
you  begin  to  entertain  rational  doubts  of  my  existence.  I  am,  how- 
ever, alive  and  well ;  better  both  in  mind  and  body  than  when  I 
last  saw  you,  and  unless  the  damnation  of  my  poems  affect  my 
health  and  spirits,  likely  for  a  considerable  time  to  be  off  the  sick- 
list. 

"  So  many  things  have  occurred,  if  not  to  occupy,  at  least  to 
interrupt  my  time  since  my  marriage,  Avhich  took  place  on  the  11th 
of  May,  that  I  thought  it  best  not  to  write  you  till  I  found  myself 
in  some  measure  settled,  and  in  a  hopeful  way  of  doing  some  good. 
I  have  written  a  considerable  number  of  poems  of  a  smaller  size 
since  ray  marriage,  so  that  were  the  first  poems  of  the  collection 
finished,  I  thiidc  I  have  MS.  enough  for  a  volume  of  400  pages, 
wliich  I  am  desirous  it  should  be.  I  know  not  how  it  is,  but  I 
have  felt  a  strange  disinclination  to  work  at  the  longest  poem  ;  but 
on  receiving  your  answer,  all  minor  occupations  shall  be  laid  aside, 
and  the  work  be  proceeded  with  in  good  earnest.  Indeed,  such  is 
my  waywardness  of  fancy,  that  I  feel  constantly  impelled  to  write 
each  day  on  a  dift'erent  subject,  which  I  shoidd  be  prevented  from 
doing  were  a  day  fixed  for  the  commencement  of  the  printing. 
Suppose  we  say  that  on  the  1st  of  October  every  thing  shall  be 
ready  for  going  to  press  ;  and  if  so,  you  may  depend  upon  it  that 
the  press  shall  never  be  allowed  to  remain  idle  one  day  for  want  of 
matter.  It  would  be  most  satisfactory  for  me  to  retain  the  MS.  of 
my  poems  in  my  own  hands,  except  such  quantity  as  need  be  in  the 
printer's  hands.  Thus,  I  will  send  the  longest  poem  by  cantos, 
there  being  four,  and  so  on.  I  cannot  in  a  letter  sufticiently  explain 
my  reasons  for  wishing  this ;  but  unless  you  agree  to  it,  it  will  be 
very  painful  to  me,  and  I  am  confident  it  will  be  for  the  interest  of 
the  woi-k.  With  respect  to  preface,  I  am  doubtful  if  I  shall  have 
one  ;  if  so,  it  will  consist  of  a  very  few  pages,  two  or  three  at  the 
most.  I  suppose  the  prefixce  will  be  numbered  separately  from  the 
poems,  and  therefore  may  be  printed  after  them,  should  I  like  it, 
and  in  like  manner  the  title-page,  etc. 


lOS  MEMOIR   OF   JOU^'    WILSON. 

"  With  respect  to  the  size  of  the  vohime,  I  am  still  partial  to  that 
of  3Ian/i(on  ;  or,  if  you  choose,  a  Httle  smaller,  only  as  many  or 
more  lines  11.  each  page.  A  thinly  printed  book  of  that  size  looks 
very  badly.  There  will  be  verses  of  many  ditfereut  measures, 
though  none  exceeding  twelve  syllables.  I  think  that  a  rather 
smaller  type  would  look  better,  since  the  poems  are  miscellaneous. 
But  all  these  particulars  I  leave  to  yourself  I  shall  expect  to  hear 
from  you  as  soon  as  you  can  decidedly  tix  matters  with  me,  and  I 
hope  that  you  will  find  me  a  tractable  and  reasonable  author.  The 
sooner  every  thing  is  fixed  the  better,  as  otherwise  I  shail  never  set 
to  with  invincible  fury.  If  the  printing  can  commence  by  the  be- 
ginning of  October,  the  first  book  of  the  Icle  of  Palms  will  be  sent 
to  you  by  the  tenth  of  September.  You  should  also  advertise  the 
work  in  the  literary  notices  of  the  Reviews,  and  immediately  ;  but 
all  this  I  will  leave  to  yourself" 

"Ellerat,  Kexdal,  September  IT,  1811. 

"  Deak  Smith  : — I  send  you  at  last  the  first  canto  of  the  Isle  of 
Palms,  ready  for  the  press. 

"  I  had  expected  Mr.  Blair  here  to  revise  the  poem,  but  he  did 
not  come,  so  I  had  to  send  it  to  him,  and  he  returned  it  only  yes- 
terday, without  any  alteration  (though  with  many  compliments), 
and  I  had  to  fill  up  the  blanks  myself.  The  manuscript  is  in  Mr. 
Blair's  handwriting,  and  is,  I  trust,  legible.  As  to  punctuation,  1 
suppose  the  printer  uses  his  discretion. 

"  I  am  going  on  correcting  and  writing,  and  certamly  never  will 
keep  the  press  waiting  for  me.  The  proofs  will,  of  course,  be  sent 
to  me  ;  but  I  conceive  that  double  proofs  are  altogether  unnecessary. 

•'Let  it  go  to  press  immediately,  and  write  me  when  you  think 
it  right  to  inform  me  of  your  proceedings. 

"This  first  canto  will,  I  believe,  occupy  32  pages  at  all  events,  as 
there  are  nearly  600  lines. 

"You  will  give  strict  injunctions  to  Ballantyne  to  let  no  one  see 
the  ]jr()of-sheets.  For  the  Isle  of  Palms  is  a  wild  tale,  and  must 
not  be  judged  of  piecemeal.     But  there  are  many  reasons  for  this. 

"J.   WiLSOX.-' 

"Ellerat,  Sept.  27  and  28,  1811. 
"I  am  glad  that  you  are  pleased  with  the  manuscript  on  the 
whole.     The  introductory  stanzas  are  perhaps  not,  at  first  reading. 


"the    isle    of    I'ALMS."  109 

and  in  manuscript,  very  perspicuous ;  but  tliey  were  written  upon 
principle,  and  will,  I  doubt  not,  give  pleasure  when  the  canto  is 
thought  of  togethei',  and  distinctly  embraced  in  one  whole.  Blair 
and  Wordsworth  were  both  delighted  with  them,  and,  as  I  shall 
have  a  very  short  preface,  I  am  not  afraid  of  their  seeming  obscure. 
At  the  same  time,  I  shall  be  obliged  to  you  for  any  remarks  of  the 
kind,  as,  though  I  have  written  nothing  without  due  thought,  all 
hints  should  be,  and  will  be  attended  to,  and  gratefully  received. 

"  I  am  in  daily  expectation  of  receiving  the  second  canto  from 
lUair,  written  over  in  the  same  maimer,  and  think  you  may  be  ex- 
pecting it  on  Thursday.  Indeed,  fear  not  of  having  regular  and 
sufficient  supplies. 

"The  whole  Isle  of  Palms  is  of  a  wild  character,  though,  I  trust, 
sufficiently  interspersed  and  vivitied  with  human  feelings  to  interest 
generally  and  deeply.  Its  wildness  and  romantic  character,  being 
qualities  that  suffer  greatly  by  piecemeal  quotation,  render  me  de- 
sirous of  its  being  seen  entire  or  not  at  all ;  but  still  this  is  not  a 
matter  of  much  importance,  as  I  fear  nothhig  when  the  poem  comes 
before  the  public.  I  know  the  public  taste,  and  neither  will  violate 
nor  cringe  to  it,  and,  with  its  own  merits,  and  the  respectable  way 
in  which  it  will  be  given  to  the  world,  I  am  fearless  of  its  success. 
I  find  that  the  Isle  of  Palms  will  be  nearer  3,000  than  2,000  lines. 
Of  the  other  poems,  I  know  there  are  many  that  will  be  more  popu- 
lar, and  therefore  I  expect  that,  as  the  printing  proceeds,  you  will 
see  reason  to  confide  in  those  hopes  of  my  success,  which  you  have 
already  been  good  enough  to  entertain. 

"On  the  whole,  I  tlunk  Ballantyne  ought  to  print  the  work,  if 
you  can  make  good  terms  with  him.  ]^\\.K■  stockings  are  dir^y 
things,  but  not  very  deleterious. 

"  Next  letter,  I  expect  to  hear  from  you  positively  when  you 
begin  printing,  that  I  may  never  be  from  home,  ar,d  keep  the  devils 
from  getting  cool.  In  ten  days  I  shall  have  seut  you  the  first  three 
cantos,  containing  above  2,000  lines,  and  then  I  am  not  afraid  of  my 
heels  being  pressed  upon,  as  correction  will  be  my  only  task. 

"All  the  booksellers  in  Oxford  know  me  well.  Indeed,  I  once 
t:ilked  to  Parker  about  ])ublisir!i)g  some  poems  there,  but,  though 
he  was  most  willing  to  undertake  it,  I  after wai'ds  changed  my  mind, 
for  the  University  is  but  a  dullish  spot,  though  undoubtedly  many 
copies  will  be  sold  there. 


110  MEMOIR   OF   JOHN    ^VTLSON. 

"  The  whole  copy  shall  be  sent  in  Bhiir's  writing,  or  in  a  hand 
still  better ;  and  it"  there  are  any  directions  necessary  about  correct- 
ing the  press,  of  which  you  think  it  probable  I  may  be  ignorant, 
you  will  instruct  me.  I  am  still  in  hopes  of  Blair  corning  here 
soon. 

"Poor  Grahame,  I  hear,  is  gone;  let  me  hear  some  particulars; 
ho  was  a  truly  estimable  being." 

The  reference  here  is  to  the  Rev.  James  Grahame,  author  of 
"The  Sabbath,"  and  other  poems.  My  father  greatly  esteemed 
him  and  his  poetry,  and  at  this  time  composed  an  Elegy  to  his 
memory,*  which  was  published  anonymously  while  the  Isle  of  Palms 
was  going  through  the  press. 

Another  letter  is  sent  by  and  by  along  with  the  third  canto  of  the 
Isle  of  Palms,  which  had  been  kept  some  time  by  Mr.  Blair.  He 
says  : — "  I  expect  you  wUl  like  it  fully  more  than  any  of  the  preced- 
ing ;  and  Blair  thinks  it  equal  to  any  poetry  of  modern  times.  The 
fourth  canto  I  Mill  send  to  him  this  day ;  so  Ballantyne  will  have  it 
in  time,  although  I  fear  he  has  been  stopped  for  want  of  this  one, 
which  will  never  again  be  owing  to  me. 

"  I  have  had  a  long  letter  from  John  Ballantyne,  most  anxiously 
requesting  a  share  in  the  work,  or  any  concern  in  it  that  I  would 
grant,  so  that  his  name  should  appear  in  the  imprint.  He  wishes 
to  have  500  copies  to  [sell],  but  on  what  terms  I  do  not  very  clearly 
understand. 

"  I  think  that  if  he  could  be  allowed  some  kind  of  share  or  con- 
nection with  it,  it  might  be  well,  as  he  has,  I  suppose,  good  connec- 
tions. I  wish  to  hear  from  you  immediately  upon  this  subject,  and 
I  cannot  answer  his  letter  till  I  know  your  wishes  and  views  on  it. 
It  augurs  well,  his  anxiety.  Should  you  wish  to  see  his  letter? 
He  says  that  Longman  is  now  preparing  his  winter  catalogue ;  and 
that  insertion  of  the  title  there  would  double  the  Jirst  demand. 
This  seems  fudge,  although  same  time  it  should  be  sent  for  inser- 
tion in  that  catalogue,  of  which  you  probably  know  more  than  I 
do.  I  have  advertised  the  work  in  the  Kendal  paper,  and  shall  in 
one  or  two  of  the  Liverpool. 

"  Let  me  hear  from  you  if  the  paper  has  been  sent  to  Ballantyne, 
and  if  you  think  the  work  may  be  out  by  Christmas.     Stir  Ballan- 

*  "Lines  sacrcil  to  the  Memory  of  the  Eev.  James  Grahame,  author  of  'The  Sabb-ith,'  Ac    '  A 
(uan  .w  was  to  all  the  country  dear.'    4t«.    Glasgow:  Smith  £  Son." 


"the  isle  of  palms."  Ill 

tyne  up  with  a  long  pole,  and  henceforth  depend  upon  my  being 
punctual." 

P^oni  these  and  other  letters,  it  will  be  seen  that  the  poet  was 
by  no  means  a  careless  man  of  business  ;  and  that  if  he  was  pretty 
confident  of  success,  he  did  not  neglect  any  means  to  secure  it. 

In  his  next  letter  he  complains  bitterly  of  the  delay  in  the  print- 
ing, not  having  heard  from  Ballantyne  for  a  month,  and  theu  pro- 
ceeds to  give  some  practical  suggestions  regarding  the  lines  on 
Grahame : — 

"  The  copies  of  the  '  Lines,  etc.,'  came  safely  to  hand.  They  are 
exceedingly  well  printed  and  accurate  in  all  respects.  One  copy  I 
gave  to  Lloyd ;  the  other  to  my  wife's  sister,  both  of  whom  were 
greatly  pleased.  I  find  that  it  Avill  be  in  my  power  to  distribute  a 
few  copies  without  suspicion ;  and  there  is  a  bookseller  in  Kendal 
Avho  would,  I  think,  dispose  of  half  a  dozen  very  easily.  Send  me, 
therefore,  per  coach,  a  dozen  copies  ;  six  to  my  own  account,  and 
six  for  the  trade,  which  I  will  send  to  the  bookseller  in  Kendal ; 
and  if  he  sells  them,  he  will  account  to  me  for  them.  Let  me  hear 
how  they  take  ;  now  that  Edinburgh  is  filling,  perhaps  some  copies 
will  be  going  off".  I  would  wish  a  copy  to  be  sent  to  Mr.  Alison, 
and  one  to  Mr.  Morehead,  the  Episcopal  clergyman  in  Edinburgh, 
with  '  from  the  author'  on  the  title-page.  Grahame  was  known 
about  Carlisle,  and  I  should  think  some  of  the  trade  there  would 
take  copies  ;  Durham  also.  Are  there  any  inquiries  made  after  the 
author  ?  Is  it  attributed  to  any  one  ?  You  should  tell  a  paragraph 
to  be  extracted  from  it  in  each  of  the  Edinburgh  papers ;  perhaps 
the  same  two  as  in  the  Glasgow  papers.  Some  copies  would  sell 
in  Oxford  if  seen  there  ;  I  should  also  think  in  Liverpool.  A  pas- 
sage ought  also  to  appear  in  the  London  Courier  and  in  the  Scots 
Magazine  ;  and  also  very  early  in  other  magazines.  It  is  perhaps 
not  worth  all  this  trouble." 

The  elegy  attracted  considerable  attention,  and  a  second  edition 
was  soon  called  for.     His  next  letter  is  written  in  December : — 

"I  have  had  many  letters  from  Edinburgh  highly  connnendino- 
the  '  Lines,'  which  I  understand  are  considerable  favorites  there, 
though  I  find  I  am  strongly  suspected  in  that  cpiartei-.  With  respect 
to  giving  my  name,  you  may  now  use  your  own  discretion." 

At  Christmas  he  Avas  in  Edinburgh  at  his  mother's  with  his 
vouug  wife  and  her  sisters.     IIl-  writes  to  Mr.  Smith  : — 


(12  MEMOIR    OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

"The  volume  gets  on  tolerably.  Page  250  has  gone  to  press 
this  day.  All  the  manuscript  is  in  Ballantyne's  hands.  He  thinks 
the  volume  would  not  be  the  worse  of  being  450  pages.  In  that-i 
case,  would  you  wisli  the  lines  on  Grahame  lo  be  included?  Fev- 
gusson,  Cranstoun,  and  Glasstbrd  think  them  better  than  any  thing 
Gi'ahame  himself  has  written.  The  ^Eclectic  is  favorable  enough, 
but  stupid  enough  too  !  Who,  in  writing  an  elegy,  would  give  a 
critical  dissertation  on  a  poem  ?  The  motto  is  a  good  one,  and  the 
punctuation  excellent,  except  in  two  cases,  which  do  not  destroy  the 
sense. 

"  Walter  Scott  talks  to  me  in  great  terms  of  what  he  has  seen  of 
the  '  Isle.'*  The  elder  Ballantyne  is  in  raptures,  and  prophesies 
great  popularity.  Considei*able  expectations  are  formed  here  among 
the  blues  of  both  sexes,  and  I  am  whirled  into  the  vortex  of  fash- 
'on  liere  in  consequence. 

"  I  shall  say  notliing  to  nny  one  of  the  dedication.  Send  Mr- 
M'Latchie  a  copy  of  the  'Lines,'  'with  the  author's  aifectionate  re- 
gard,' and  one  to  Mr.  Gill  with  my  '  respectful  compliments.' 

"  You  ought  certainly  to  come  here  before  the  publication,  and 
soon,  to  arrange  every  thing.   I  think  we  shall  attract  some  attention." 

A  little  glimpse  of  the  life  at  53  Queen  street,  and  the  pleasant 
footing  subsisting  between  the  relatives  gathered  there,  is  afforded 
in  a  note  of  young  Mrs.  Wilson's  about  this  time  to  her  sister.  She 
thanks  "  Peg"  for  her  note,  which,  she  says,  "  was  sacred  to  myself. 
It  is  not  my  custom,  you  may  tell  her,  to  show  my  letters  to  John." 
She  goes  on  to  speak  of  Edinburgh  society,  dinners  and  evening 
parties,  and  whom  she  most  likes.  The  Kev.  Mr.  Morchead  is 
"a  great  favorite;"  Mr.  Jeffrey  is  a  "horrid  little  man,"  but 
"  held  in  as  liigh  estimation  here  as  the  Bible."  Mrs.  Wilson,  se- 
nior, gives  a  ball,  and  150  people  are  invited.  "The  girls  are  look- 
ing forward  to  it  with  great  delight.  Mrs.  Wilson  is  very  nice 
with  them,  and  lets  them  ask  anybody  they  like.  There  is  not  the 
least  restraint  put  upon  them.  John's  poems  will  be  sent  from  here 
next  week.  The  large  size  is  a  guinea,  and  the  small  one  twelve 
shillings," 

*  Sir  Walter,  writing  to  Mifs  Jo.inna  Baillio  about  this  time,  says: — "The  author  of  the  elegy 
upon  poor  Grahame  is  John  Wilson,  a  roung  man  of  very  considerable  poetical  powers.  He  is 
now  eneaged  u[>on  a  poem  called  the  '  Isle  of  Palms."  something  in  the  style  of  Southey.  He  is 
an  eccentric  genius,  and  has  fixed  hims<?lf  on  the  banks  of  Windermere,  but  occasionally  resides 
In  Edinburgh,  where  he  now  is.  He  seems  an  excellent,  warmhearted,  and  enthusiastic  young 
uiin'  something  tco  much,  p' ih:ips,  of  the  latter  quality,  places  him  among  the  list  of  originals." 


"the  isle  of  palms."  113 

After  sundry  delays  from  want  of  paper  or  otlier  causes,  the  vol- 
ume duly  appeared  on  the  20th  of  February,  1812,  eniitled,  The 
Isle  of  Palms,  and  other  Poems,  by  John  Wilson.  The  potent 
name  of  Longman,  whose  catalogue  could  work  such  wonders, 
came  first,  followed  by  those  of  Ballantyne  and  Co.,  Edinburgh, 
and  John  Smith  and  Son,  Glasgow.  It  was  affectionately  dedi- 
cated to  the  author's  old  teachers,  Professors  Jardine  and  Young. 
IIow  the  work  Avas  received  may  be  gathered  from  his  own  letters. 
Poets  are  seldom  entirely  satisfied  with  the  reception  of  their 
works.  The  author  of  the  Isle  of  Palms  had  no  gi-eat  reason  to 
complain,  and  he  did  not  do  so.  At  any  rate,  any  dissatisfaction 
he  felt,  as  will  be  seen,  took  the  very  practical  form  of  urging  all 
legitimate  means  for  promoting  the  sale  of  the  work. 

TO  MR.  SMITH. 

"53  Queen  Street,  1st  April,  1812. 
A  day  consecrated  to  Poets. 

"  My  long-delayed  visit  to  Glasgow  has  been  entirely  put  a  stop 
to  by  the  miserable  weather  and  other  causes,  till  I  find  that  it  will 
not  be  in  my  power  to  make  it  out  at  all  for  nearly  two  months  to 
come.  Mrs.  Wilson  is  in  that  ^tate  now  that  I  could  not  comfort- 
ably leave  her,  and  therefore  it  will  not  be  in  my  power  to  see  you 
till  the  time  I  mention. 

"  From  your  last  letter  it  would  appear  that  the  Isle  of  Palms 
has  hitherto  been  tolerably  successful.  In  Edinburgh  it  is  much 
read,  praised,  etc.,  but  I  question  if  the  sale  of  it  has  been  very 
great.  A  less  enterprising  set  of  men  than  Edinburgh  booksellers 
I  never  had  the  misfortune  to  meet  with. 

"  From  what  you  told  me,  I  doubt  not  that  Longman  will  adver- 
tise it  properly.  I  have  certainly  seen  it  occasionally  in  several 
y»ai)ers,  but  not  so  often  as  many  other  volumes  of  far  less  moment 
(poetical)  ;  und  almost  all  the  booksellers  I  have  spoken  to  here 
agree  in  stating,  that  the  London  advertising  is  very  dull  and  insuf- 
ficient. I  mention  this  as  I  hear  it,  without  supposing  for  an  instant 
that  any  thing  Avill  be  wanting  on  your  j)art  to  forward  the  sale  of 
the  volume.  It  seems  evident  to  mc  that  some  steps  should  be 
taken  to  make  the  volume  known  better  than  it  is,  and  first  of  all 
by  inserting  occasional  extracts  in  newspapers.  I  shall  take  care 
to  do  something  in  the  Edinburgh  and  London  papers.     But  what 


114  MKMUIK    OF   JOHN    WILSOJSf. 

is  of  more  importance  is  the  jivovincial  sale  in  England.  Consitl- 
ci-al)lo  inquiry  was  made  after  them  in  Liverjiool ;  and  had  there 
been  copies  there,  many  would  have  sold.  And  I  think  you  should 
still  establish  some  correspondence  with  the  booksellers  there. 
Two  hundred  of  Crabbe's  poems  were  sold  in  Liverpool.  In  Man- 
chest  tn-,  many,  many  books  are  sold  ;  one  shop  of  considerable 
magnitude  is  kept  by  a  Mr.  Ford.  But  it  seems  certain  to  my  mind 
that  you  must  bestir  yourself  through  the  towns  of  England,  for 
the  people  are  so  stupid  as  not  to  know  where  to  send  for  them, 
unless  they  come  to  the  town  Avhere  they  live.  This  I  had  proof 
of  from  Liverpool  in  abundance. 

"I  havef  sent  Southey  a  copy.  He  will,  I  know,  review  it  in  the 
Quarterly^  if  he  likes  it,  which  I  think  probable;  otherwise  he  will 
not.  Jeflrey  likes  it  much  ;  but  will  very  likely  abuse  it  for  all 
that.  I  see  it  will  be  reviewed  in  the  next  Edinburgh  Quarterly 
Jieview,  but  I  suppose  it  is  a  despicable  effort ;  its  praise  or  blame 
will  be  alike  indifferent. 

"I  find  that  people  distrust  their  OAvn  judgment  more  than  I  had 
ever  believed  possible,  and  durst  not  admire  any  thing  till  they  can 
quote  authorities.  I  shall  be  happy  to  hear  from  you  when  at  leisure. 
Glasgow  criticism  is  not  worth  regarding ;  but  I  wish  to  hear  from 
you  an  exact  account  of  the  number  of  copies  sold  by  you  in  Glas- 
gow, etc.,  to  the  public,  and  also  of  the  number  which  you  have 
altogether  disposed  of  to  the  Edinburgh  booksellers  ;  London  and 
Oxford,  too,  if  you  have  heard  any  thing  from  those  quarters.  I 
have  as  yet  had  no  correspondence  with  England  about  it ;  here  I 
am  not  a  little  caressed  by  the  great,  but  I  would  excuse  their 
caresses,  if  the  public  would  buy  my  volume.  If  the  volume  do 
ultimately  succeed,  and  nothing  has  yet  occurred  to  make  me  sup- 
pose that  it  will  not,  then  I  shall  in  a  year  or  two  come  before  it 
again  in  strength ;  but  if  not,  I  shall  court  the  Muse  no  more. 

"•  Have  any  of  my  poems  gone  to  Paisley  or  to  the  Sister  lale  ? 
Give  me  the  names  of  as  many  of  the  purchasers  as  you  can.  Have 
you  ever  sent  Watson  his  copies  ?  for  they  had  not  been  seen  at 
Calgarth  so  late  as  last  week,  and  I  suppose  the  Kendal  bookseller 
sent  his  there.  Have  any  been  sent  to  Cambridge  or  Birmingham  ? 
two  places,  by  the  by,  well  joined  together.  The  longer  your  let- 
ter is  the  better,  and  by  making  a  parcel  of  it,  you  may  send  the 
letters  of  the  Oxford  booksellers,  and  anything  else  3'ou  desire,  but 


THE    ISIJ::    OF    rAI-Mo. 


115 


taking  care  not  to  write  till  you  have  time  to  send  me  a  full  ami 
long  letter."* 

In  the  next  number  of  the  J^dinhxirgh  Ilevieio  ajipeaved  a  criti- 
cism of  the  Isle  of  Pulins,  what  publisliers  would  call  a  "favorable 
notice,"  but,  it  would  appear,  not  quite  to  the  taste  of  the  author. 
He  would  probably  have  preferred  a  good  "cutting  up"  to  the 
measured  and  somewhat  patronizing  ai)proval  of  the  reviewer.  On 
the  3d  of  May,  he  writes  to  Mr.  Smith: — 

"  I  write  this  in  great  haste,  it  being  near  two  o'clock  on  Sunday 
morninGT,  and  at  eight  I  leave  Edinburgh  on  a  fishin2:  excursion  to 
Kelso  for  a  week. 

"  Jeffrey's  review  is  beggarly.  I  don't  much  like  the  extract ;  it 
is  too  much  of  an  excerpt,  too  quackish  ;  but  jilease  yourself.  The 
other  review  is  a  niaster})iece  of  nonsense  and  folly." 

Soon  after  he  writes  again  from  Elleray  :  — 

"  I  am  meditating  many  other  poems,  and  probably  shall  begin  to 
write  soon.  I  know  that  I  can  in  a  year  write  another  volume  that 
Avill  make  the  Isle  liide  its  head.  But  unless  the  Isle  travels  the 
Continent  a  little  more  before  that  time,  I  shall  not  throw  pearls 
before  swine  in  a  hurry." 

"  Elleray,  Monday  morning, 
''Nov.  2:5,  1812. 
"  Mt  dear  Smith  : — The  day  after  I  received  yovir  last,  I  left 
Elleray  for  Ireland,  on  a  visit  to  my  sister,  who  lives  near  Killarney. 
I  stayed  there  a  month,  and  on  my  return  have  received  the  melan- 
choly intelligence  of  my  dear  brother's  death. f  Since  then  I  have 
not  had  the  power  of  thinking  of  my  literary  concerns.  We  often 
know  not  how  dearly  we  love  our  near  relations,  till  called  on  to 

*  The  anxiety  and  (lisa[ipointinent  of  the  author  as  to  the  early  sale  of  the  volume  does  not 
Bcem  altogi'thi-r  unreasonable,  when  we  find  that  in  Edinburfrh,  where  the  chief  demand  was  to 
be  looked  for,  " the  trade"  received  the  work  so  cautiously,  as  the  followinf;  "subscription  list" 
indicates : — "  The  Me  of  Palms,  and  other  Poems.  By  John  Wilson.  Demy  Svo,  rctjiil  at  128. ; 
under  10,  .Ss.  6d. ;  above,  Ss.  A  few  copies  Iloyal  Svo  at  sub.  John  Ballantyne  &  Co.,  two  liundred 
copies,  demy;  Manners  &  Miller,  twenty-flve;  Archd.  Constable  «fc  Co.,  twenty-five  copies;  Jno. 
Anderson,  twenty-flve  eo|)ies;  Wm.  Blackwood,  six  copies." 

The  last  item  in  the  list  looks  specially  curious  now  ;  but  at  that  time  Mr.  Blackwood's  busi- 
niss  was  in  its  infancy,  and  the  future  Christopher  North  was  unknown  te  him. 

About  the  same  time  Loniiman  &.  ('o.  wrote  to  Mr.  Smith,  to  report  the  London  "  subscrip- 
tion:"'— "We  received  a  copy  of  Wilson's  Poems  from  Ballantynes,  iiiid  our  clerk,  who  subscribes 
oar  books,  took  it  round  the  trade  yesterday  and  this  mornins:;  but  as  the  author  is  not  known 
amongst  the  London  booksellers,  we  are  sorry  to  say  we  have  been  enabled  to  subscribe  only  be- 
tween forty-five  and  fifty,  thougli,  from  what  you  say  of  the  merit  of  the  work,  and  what  w« 
bear  of  it  from  other  quai-ters,  we  have  no  doubt  of  its  selling  very  well  here  when  it  is  l.nown.* 

t  His  brother  Andrew. 


116  MEMOIR    OF   JOnX    "WILSOX. 

mourn  over  their  graves.  I  know  that  I  tenderly  loved  my  dear 
brother,  but  his  death  has  aiieeted  me  more  than  I  could  have 
imagined,  and  I  yet  feel  as  if  I  could  never  again  be  ha]>py  or 
cheeifiil  enough  to  resume  my  former  occupations. 

"  I  leave  every  thing  relating  to  my  poems  to  your  own  judg- 
ment.    Kthey  do  not  sell,  my  poetry  never  will;  for  though  I  m 
write  better,  they  are  good  enough  for  popularity — far  better  than 
many  that  circulate  widely — and  they  deserve  to  sell. 

"Southey  would  have  gladly  reviewed  them  in  the  Quarterly^ 
but  found  it  impossible,  without  speaking  at  length  of  himself  and 
Wordsworth ;  so  he  from  conscience  declined  it.  Blair  I  have  heard 
nothing  of  since  I  saw  you,  nor  am  I  likely  to  hear.  A  book  must 
ulfciniately  owe  its  circulation  to  itself,  and  not  to  the  grace  of 
reviewers.  Take  such  steps  about  a  second  edition  as  you  choose. 
I  would  advise,  if  there  be  one,  no  more  than  750  copies.  I  will 
add  no  new  poems,  nor  preface,  nor  note. 

"  I  would  fain  write  you  at  greater  length,  but  feel  unable.  Let 
the  beginning  of  my  letter  be  my  excuse." 

The  extent  of  his  plans  of  composition  at  this  time  is  indicated 
by  a  "List  of  subjects  for  meditation,"  in  one  of  his  books,  contain- 
ing no  less  than  131  titles  of  proposed  poems.  In  what  spirit  he 
entered  on  his  work,  the  following  note,  written  in  his  commonplace- 
book,  may  illustrate : — 

'•'•June  12,  1812. — Expected  that  a  volume  will  be  completed 
by  June  12,  1814.  May  the  Almighty  enlighten  my  mind,  so  that  I 
may  benefit  my  fellow-creatures,  and  discharge  the  duties  of  my 
life.— J.  W."* 

The  list  of  subjects  begins  on  the  opposite  page,  and  the  proposed 
character  of  the  strain  in  each  case  is  indicated  by  such  notes  as 
these : — 

"  Red  Tarn — melancholy  and  mournful. 

"  The  widow — beautiful  and  fanciful. 

"  A  poet — characteristic  and  copious. 

•  It  will  not,  I  hope,  diminish  in  any  roailcrs  eves  the  respect  due  to  this  solemn  and  surely 
Dost  heartfelt  aspiration,  that  it  is  copied  from  a  page,  never  meant  for  other  eyes  to  see.  be- 
ginning with  so  diltVrent  a  kind  of  memorandunj  as  this — "Small  black  mufOed  hen  set  herself 
with  about  eight  eggs  on  Monday  night  or  Tuesday  morning,  Tth  July."  So  far  am  I  from  being 
offended  by  this  curious  contrast,  that  I  specially  note  the  fact  as  a  characteristic  illustration  of 
the  wholeness  and  sincerity  of  the  man,  who,  whether  it  were  high  poetic  meditation  or  the 
breeding  of  game-cocks  that  occupied  him,  did  it  with  all  his  heart  and  strength,  each  in  its  8ejis<ic 


THE    ISLE    OF    PALMS. 


117 


"On  tne  death  of  Gougli  among  the  hills — different  view  of  it 
from  W.  and  Scott. 

"  City  after  a  plague — awful  and  wild,  solemn, 

"Town  and  country — vigorous  and  bold. 

"  On  the  Gi-cL'k  sculpture — in  strong  heroics. 

"  The  murderer  and  the  babe — a  contrast ;  the  moral  to  be — to 
watch  well  our  own  hearts  against  vice." 

A  calculation  is  then  given  for  a  volume  of  500  pages  out  of  a 
selection  of  this  large  list,  in  which  170  are  allotted  to  "St.  Hu- 
bert," and  50  each  to  "The  Manse"  and  "The  Ocean  Queen,"  and 
to  the  "  City  after  a  Plague"  only  5.  The  proposed  volume  did 
not  appear  till  January,  1816,  not  from  any  lack  of  materials,  but 
in  consequence  of  a  change  of  plan,  the  "  City  after  a  Plague"  hav- 
ing developed  into  a  drama,  instead  of  St.  Hubert,  while  of  the 
other  subjects  very  few  were  ever  wrought  out,  and  some  that 
Avere  have  been  withheld  from  posterity.  Of  subjects  completed 
and  published,  the  titles  of  some  will  be  recognized  from  the  above 
extract.  It  is  perhaps  to  be  regretted  that  so  rich  a  promise  did 
not  come  to  perfection  ;  but  it  Avas  no  sudden  or  fortuitous  impulse 
that  made  the  poet  choose  to  develop  his  poetical  powers  in  another 
form  than  that  of  verse. 

So  much  meantime  of  poetry.  Of  the  four  happy  years  that  were 
passed  in  the  cottage  at  Elleray,  from  1811  to  1815,  there  is  little 
to  be  recorded.  It  would  appear  that  in  the  former  year  he  had 
come  to  the  resolution  of  joining  the  Scottish  Bar,  and,  in  that  view, 
became  a  member  of  the  Speculative  Society,  then  in  a  highly  flour- 
ishing condition.  lie  must  of  course  have  spent  some  part  of  the 
succeeding  winters  in  Edinburgh,  but  the  only  trace  of  the  matter 
I  find  is  the  following  allusion  in  a  letter  from  his  friend  Blair,  dated 
December,  1813  : — 

"  My  dear  John  : — I  desire  very  much  to  hear  further  from 
you,  and  to  know  how  your  great  soul  accommodates  itself  to  the 
Law  Class,  and  other  judicial  sufferings  and  degradations,  and  more 
about  your  Greek  and  polite  literature." 

I  find  also,  that  he  opened,  on  the  4th  of  January,  1814,  the  de- 
bate in  the  Speculative  Society — topic,  "Has  the  War  on  the  Con- 
tinent been  glorious  to  the  Spanish  nation  ?" — iu  the  affirmative, 
when  the  majority  of  tlie  Society  voted  with  hiui.  He  oidy  wrote, 
it  appears,  one  Essay  for  that  Society  on  "some  political  institutions 


118  MEMOIR    OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

of  military  origin,"  of  wliich  tlierc  are  some  traces  in  one  of  his  MS. 
books. 

This  hajipy  life  at  Elleray  was  soon  to  come  to  a  close.  In  the 
fourth  year  from  the  date  of  his  marriage,  there  came  a  calamity  s<> 
heavy  and  nnlooked  for  that  tlie  highest  fortitude  was  required  to 
meet  it,  as  it  was  met,  bravely  and  cheerfully. 

Tlie  circrimstances  which  occun-ed  to  make  it  absolutely  neces- 
sary to  leave  Elleray  wer-e  of  a  most  painful  nature,  inasmuch  as 
they  not  only  deprived  Wilson  of  his  entire  fortune,  but  in  that 
blow  revealed  the  dishonesty  of  one  closely  allied  to  him  by  rela- 
tionship, and  in  whom  years  of  unshaken  trust  had  been  reposed. 
An  uncle  had  acted  the  ])art  of  "unjust  steward,"  and,  by  his 
treachery,  overwhelmed  his  nephew  in  irretrievable  loss.  A  sud- 
den fall  from  affluence  to  poverty  is  not  a  trial  easily  borne,  espe- 
cially when  it  comes  through  the  fault  of  others  ;  but  Wilson's  na- 
ture was  too  strong  and  noble  to  bow  beneath  the  blow.  On  the 
contrary,  with  a  virtue  rarely  exemplified,  he  silently  submitted  to 
the  calamity,  and  generously  assisted  in  contributing  to  the  support 
of  his  relative,  who,  in  the  ruin  of  others,  had  also  ruined  himself. 
Here  was  a  practical  illustration  of  moral  philosophy,  more  elo- 
quent, I  think,  than  even  the  Professor's  own  lectures,  when  he 
came  to  teach  what  he  had  practised.  In  such  a  noble  spirit,  and 
with  a  conscience  void  of  offence,  he  prepared  to  quit  the  beautiful 
home  where  he  had  hoped  to  pass  his  days,  and  set  his  face  firmly 
to  meet  the  new  conditions  of  life  which  his  lot  imposed.  The  fol- 
lowing letter  to  De  Quincey  describes  his  journey  from  Elleray 
with  his  Avife  and  infant  family  : — 

"  Pexritu,  Crown  Inx, 
"  Friday  Evening,  half-past  Six,  1815. 

"  jMy  dear  Friend  : — I  found  that  it  was  impossible  to  see  you 
again  at  your  cottage  before  taking  leave  of  Elleray.  The  tem- 
pestuous weather  prevented  me  from  going  to  Kendal  on  the  day  I 
had  fixed,  so  I  was  forced  to  go  on  Thursday,  a  cold,  rainy,  and 
stormy  day.  Had  I  returned  in  the  afternoon,  I  certainly  would 
have  cantered  over  to  Grasmere  for  a  parting  grasp  of  cordiality 
and  kindness  ;  but  I  did  not  return  to  Elleray  till  near  eleven 
o'clock.  We  rose  this  morning  at  six,  and  got  under  weigh  at 
eight.  We  arrived  here  about  five,  and  the  children  being  fatigued, 
we  propose  to  lie  to  durhig  the  night.     The  post-boy  being  about 


LIFE    IN    EULNIJUKGII.  119 

to  return  to  Ambleside,  I  gave  Keir  this  note,  which  lias  no  other 
object  than  to  kindly  wish  you  all  peace,  and  such  happiness  as  you 
deserve  till  we  meet  again.  If  I  cannot  pay  you  a  visit  at  Christ- 
mas, we  shall  surely  meet  early  in  summer.  I  will  write  you  from 
Edinburgh  soon. 

"  Blair  left  EUeray  on  an  opposite  tack  this  morning  ;  weather 
hazy  with  heavy  squalls  from  the  northwest.  Mrs,  Wilson  begs  to 
be  kindly  remembered  to  you,  and  so  would  doubtless  the  progeny 
were  they  of  maturer  age  and  awake.     Yours  with  true  affection, 

"John  Wilson. 

" My  books  had  not  been  sent  to  Elleray  from  the  'stamp  mas- 
ter's' *  when  I  took  my  departure.  If  they  still  linger  with  fond, 
reluctant,  amorous  affection  near  Green's  rotundities,  perhaps  you 
might  wish  to  see  those  about  Spain.  If  so,  order  them  all  to  your 
cottage.  The  dinner  in  honor  of  Blucher  and  the  Crown  Prince  at 
Ambleside,  was,  I  understood,  attended  only  by  the  Parson,  the 
Apothecary,  the  Limner ; — the  King,  Lord  North,  and  Mr.  Fury, 
signifying  nothing. 

"  Vale  !  iterumque,  vale  !" 


CHAPTER  Vn. 

LIFE     IN     EDINBURGH. TUE     BAR. THE     HIGHLANDS. 

ELLERAY. 

1815-1817. 

John  Wilson's  new  home  was  now  in  Edinburgh.  His  mother 
received  him  and  his  ftimily  into  her  house,  where  he  resided 
until  the  year  1819.  Mrs.  Wilson,  senior,  was  a  lady  whose  skill  in 
domestic  management  was  the  admiration  and  wonder  of  all  zealous 
housekeepers.  Under  one  roof  she  accommodated  three  distinct 
families  ;  and,  besides  the  generosity  exercised  towards  her  own, 
she  was  hospitable  to  all,  while  her  charities  and  goodness  to  the 
poor  were  unceasing.  This  lady  was  so  well  known  and  so  much 
esteemed  in  Edinburgh,  that  Avhen  she  died,  it  was,  as  it  were,  the 

*  Wordsworth. 


120  MEMOIR   OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

extinction  of  a  "bright  particular  star;"  nor  can  any  one  who  ever 
so  \v  her,  altogether  forget  the  cflect  of  her  presence.  She  belonged  to 
that  old  school  of  Scottish  ladies  whose  refinement  and  intellect  never 
interfered  with  duties  the  most  humble.  In  a  large  household,  where 
the  fashion  of  the  day  neither  sought  nor  suggested  a  retinue  of 
attendants,  many  little  domestic  offices  were  performed  by  the  lady 
of  the  house  herself.  The  tea  china,  for  example,  Avas  washed,  both 
after  breakjf^ist  and  tea,  and  carefully  put  away  by  her  own  delicate 
hands.  INLirkets  were  made  early  in  the  morning.  Many  a  time 
has  the  stately  figure  of  Mrs.  Wilson,  in  her  elegantly  fitting  black 
satin  dress,  been  seen  to  pass  to  and  from  the  old  market-place,  Ed- 
inburgh, followed  by  some  favorite  "  caddie,"*  bearing  the  Avell- 
chosen  meats  and  vegetables,  that  no  skill  but  her  own  was  ever 
permitted  to  select.  Shrewd  sense,  wise  economy,  and  well-ordered 
benevolence  marked  all  her  actions.  Beautiful  and  dignified  in 
presence,  she  at  once  inspired  a  feeling  of  respect.  Pious  and  good, 
she  at  the  same  time  knew  and  understood  the  Avorld ;  and  false 
sentiment,  or  affectation  of  any  sort,  was  not  permitted  to  live  near 
her ;  wit  and  humor  she  did  not  lack ;  but  it  is  doubtful  whether 
poetry  was  a  material  of  her  nature  in  any  shape.  Proud  as  she  was 
of  her  son  John,  and  great  as  his  devotion  was  to  her,  he  used  always 
to  say  that  his  mother  did  not  understand  him.  Sometimes,  it  is  no 
great  wonder  if  his  eccentricity  might  have  been  a  little  too  much 
for  her  order  and  regularity.  Ii  is  very  doubtful  if  any  lady  of  the 
present  regime  could  so  wisely  and  peacefully  rule  the  afl:airs  of  a 
household  as  did  this  lady,t  when,  for  several  years,  she  had  under 
her  roof  two  married  sons,  with  their  wives,  children,  and  servants, 
along  with  her  own  immediate  household,  a  son  and  two  daughters, 
yet  unmarried,  making  in  all  a  fomily  of  fourteen  persons.  Yet 
peace  and  harmony  reigned  supreme;  and  there  are  now  not  a  few 
of  her  grandchildren  who  remember  this  fine  old  lady,  either  as  she 
moved  through  the  active  duties  of  her  house,  or,  seated  at  the  fire- 
side on  a  chair,  the  back  of  which  she  never  touched,  dignified  in 
bearing  as  a  queen,  took  a  short  nap,  awaking  with  a  kindly  smile 

•  street  porter. 

+  Mrs.  Wilson,  senior,  was  a  keen  Tory;  and  it  is  told  of  her  that  on  hearing  of  her  son  con 
tributing  to  the  Edinburgh  lierieic.  she  sjiid  to  him  significantly,  "John,  if  yoii  turn  Whig,  this 
house  is  no  longer  big  enough  for  us  both."  She  must  have  been  well  pleased  with  the  principles 
of  her  daughter-in-law,  who,  writing  after  the  Kefonn  Bill  passed,  "  thanked  God  she  was  born  in 
the  reign  of  the  Georges.'' 


LIFE   IN    EDINBURGH.  121 

at  the  sound  of  some  young  voice  demanding  a  story,  m  the  tolling 
of  which,  like  all  good  grandams,  she  excelled. 

So,  to  the  pleai?ant  house  of  his  mother,  Xo.  53  Queen  street, 
Wilson  changed  his  abode  from  dear  sycamore-sheltered  Ellcray. 

In  1815  he  was  called  to  the  bar,  along  with  his  friend  Patrick 
Robertson.*  John  Gibson  Lockhart  joined  them  in  the  year  follow- 
ing. For  a  short  time,  but  only  for  a  short  time,  Wilson  followed 
the  usual  routine  of  a  professional  promenading  in  the  "//a^^  o/" 
Lost  Stejys.^''  He  did  sometimes  get  cases,  but  wlien  he  found  them 
lying  on  his  table,  he  said  jocularly,  when  speaking  of  this  after- 
wards, "I  did  not  know  what  the  devil  to  do  Avith  them!"  The 
Parliament-House  life  was  plainly  not  the  thing  which  nature  meant 
for  him.  The  restrictions  of  that  arena  would  not  suit  his  Pegasus, 
so  he  freed  his  wings  and  took  another  course. 

There  are  some  pleasant  fragments  of  his  letters  to  his  wife,  writ- 
ten in  holiday  time,  when  he  would  now  and  then  run  away  for  a 
day  or  two  to  saunter,  fishing-rod  in  hand,  by  the  streams  of  pretty 
pastoral  Peebles,  and  into  Yarrow  to  visit  the  Ettrick  Shepherd. 

He  writes  from  the  "  Head  of  the  Yarrow,"  on  "  Wednesday  morn- 
ing, seven  o'clock,"  in  June,  1815  : — 

"  My  dearest  Jane: — I  take  time  by  the  forelock  merely  to  inform 
you  that  I  am  still  a  sentient  being.  On  Sunday,  I  did  not  leave 
Sym's  till  near  twelve  o'clock.  I  called,  on  my  way  to  Peebles,  at 
Finlay's,  at  Glencorse,  where  I  sandwiched  for  an  hour,  and  arrived 
at  Peebles  about  seven  o'clock,  a  perfect  lamete)\  my  shoes  having 
peeled  my  timbers.  The  walk  was  rather  dreary.  At  Peebles  I 
had  to  stop,  and  remained  there  all  night.  On  Monday  morning,  at 
six  o'clock  (miraculous!)  I  uprose  from  the  couch  of  slumber,  and 
walked  along  the  Tweed  to  Traquair  Kuowe  (Mr.  Laidlaw's).  There 
I  fished,  and  stayed  all  Monday,  the  place  being  very  beautiful. 
Grieve  joined  the  party  that  night,  and  several  other  people.  Mr. 
Laidlaw  is  married,  an  insectologist  and  poet,  and  farmer  and  agri- 
culturist. On  Tuesday  morning  I  walked  to  Hogg's,  a  distance  of 
about  eight  miles,  fishing  as  I  went,  and  surprised  him  in  his  cottage 
bottling  whiskey.  He  is  well,  and  dressed  pastorally.  His  house  is 
not  habitable,  but  the  situation  is  good,  and  may  become  very  pretty. 

*  Among  theyounn:  men,  afterward?  distinguishp<l,  who  passed  about  the  same  time,  were  John 
Cay,  Andrew  UutherfunL  P.  F.  Ty tier,  Sir  VViiliain  Ilainiltou,  Thomas  Maitlaud,  Alexander  Pringlc, 
Arehibald  Alison,  Duncan  M'Neill,  ,I;inies  Ivory,  &c. 


122  MEMOIK    OF    JOHN    WILSOX. 

There  being  no  beds  in  his  domicile,  we  last  niuht  came  here,  a 
f:irmer's  house  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  him,  where  I  have 
been  treated  most  kindly  and  hospitably.  The  house  and  entertain- 
ment something  d  la  Wastdale,  but  much  superior.  I  have  risen  at 
seven  o'clock,  and  am  preparing  to  take  a  complete  day's  fishing 
among  the  streams  near  St.  Mary's  Loch. 

"  To-morrow  night  I  fish  down  to  Selkirk,  to  catch  the  coach  to 
Hawick  in  the  evening ;  thence  on  Friday  morning  to  Richmond's, 
whom  I  will  leave  on  Sunday  evening.  So  if  I  can  get  a  seat  in  the 
coach  on  Sunday  night  at  Hawick,  you  will  see  me  in  Edinburgh  on 
Monday  morning  before  breakfast.  Mrs.  Scott  informs  me  breakfast 
is  ready,  so  hoping  that  you  will  be  grateful  for  this  letter,  b;dd  as 
it  is,  I  have  the  honor  to  subsci"ibe  myself  your  obedient  and  dutiful 
husband,  "  John  Wilson." 

On  one  of  these  fishing  excursions  he  had  proceeded  from  St. 
Mary's  Loch  to  Peebles,  where  he  could  not  at  first  get  admittance 
to  the  inn,  as  it  was  fully  occupied  by  a  party  of  country  gentlemen, 
met  together  on  some  county  business ;  on  sending  in  his  name, 
however,  he  was  immediately  asked  to  join  them  at  dinner.  It  is 
needless  to  say  that  under  his  spell  the  fun  grew  fast  and  furious. 
No  one  thought  of  moving.  Supper  was  proposed,  and  as  nothing 
eatable  was  to  be  had  in  the  house,  Wilson  asked  the  company  if 
they  liked  trouts,  and  forthwith  produced  the  result  of  his  day's 
amusement  from  basket,  bag,  and  pocket,  in  such  numbers  that  the 
table  Avas  soon  literally  covered.  As  the  Shepherd  afterwai-ds  saici, 
"  Your  creel  was  fu' — your  shooting-bag  fu' — your  jacket-pouches 
fu' — the  pouches  o'  your  verra  breeks  fu' — half-a-dozen  wee  ancs  in 
your  waistcoat,  no  to  forget  them  in  the  crown  o'  your  hat,  and  last 
o'  a',  when  there  was  nae  place  to  stow  awa'  ony  mair,  a  willow-wand 
drawn  through  the  gills  o'  some  great  big  anes." 

The  fresh  fragrance  of  summer,  as  enjoyed  by  the  running  sti-oams 
and  "  dowie  dens  o'  Yarrow,"  combined  with  the  desire  to  show 
his  English  wife  something  of  the  beauty  of  Scotland,  suggested 
about  this  time  an  excursion,  which  was  regarded  by  many  as  an  act 
of  insanity. 

About  the  beginning  of  July  my  father  and  mother  set  out  iVoni 
Edinburgh  on  a  pedestrian  tour  through  the  Western  Highlands. 
That  such  a  feat  sb'^uM  be  performed  by  a  delicate  young  English- 


THE    JIIGIILANDS.  123 

woman  was  sufficiently  astonishing.  A  little  of  the  smgularity,  no 
(■oubt,  arose  from  the  fict,  that  she  was  the  wife  of  an  eccentric 
joiiiig  poet,  the  strangeness  of  whose  actions  would  be  duly  exag- 
gerated. Sucli  a  pioposal,  therefore,  could  not  be  made  without 
exciting  wonder  and  t  dk  in  the  demure  circles  of  Edinburgh  society. 
Mrs.  Grant  of  Laggan  thus  writes  upon  the  subject  to  a  friend : — 

"The  oddest  thing  that  I  have  known  for  some  time  is  John  Wil- 
son's intended  tuur  to  the  Highlands  with  his  wife.  This  gentle 
and  elegant  Englisliwoman  is  to  walk  with  her  mate,  who  carries 
her  wardrobe  and  his  own, 

'  Thorough  flood  and  tliorough  mire, 
Over  bush,  over  brier;' 

that  is,  through  all  the  bypaths  in  the  Central  Highlands,  whei  e 
they  propose  to  sleep  in  such  cottages  as  English  eyes  never  saw 
before.  I  shall  be  charmed  to  see  them  come  back  alive  ;  and  in  the 
mean  time  it  has  cost  me  not  a  little  pains  to  explain,  in  my  epistles 
to  my  less  romantic  friends  in  their  track,  that  they  are  genuine  gen- 
tle folks  in  masquerade.  How  cruel  any  authority  would  be  thought, 
that  should  assign  such  penance  to  the  wearers  of  purple  and  tine 
linen,  as  these  have  volunteered." 

A  few  facts  relative  to  this  romantic  walk  are  not,  after  a  la])so 
of  so  many  years,  lost  sight  of  by  those  who  remember  meeting 
the  travellers,  and  entertaining  them  kindly.  Scotland  was  dear  to 
Wilson's  heart,  as  was  the  fair  sisterland  he  was  so  loath  to  leave. 
Who  has  ever  written  such  words  about  Highland  scenery  as  he 
has  done?  Well  he  knew  all  those  mist-laden  glens  in  the  far  west ; 
and  the  glorious  shadows  of  the  great  mountains,  beneath  whose 
shelter  he  and  his  wife  would  rest  after  a  long  day's  walk.  In  this 
tour  they  visited  the  Trosachs,  Loch  Katrine,  and  the  smaller  lochs 
in  that  neighborhood,  taking  such  divisions  of  the  Western  High- 
lands as  suited  their  fancy.  They  did  not  "  chalk  out  a  route,"  or 
act  as  if  "  they  had  sworn  a  soleum  oath  to  follow  it."  P^'rom  Loch 
Lomond  westward  to  Liverary,  and  thence  northward  by  Loch 
Awe  and  Glen  Etive,  they  wandered  on — halting  when  we-iried, 
either  for  a  niglit,  or  a  day  or  two,  and  always  well  received, 
strangers  though  they  were ;  making  friends  too,  in  far-off  j)laces. 
Through  the  wild  rampant  cliffs  and  mountains,  Avhich  lend  so  awful 
a  grandeur  to  Glencoe,  they  proceeded  to  Ballachulish,  billeting 
th(!mselves  upon  the  hospitable  household  of  Mr.  Stewart,  where 


124-  MEMOIR   OF   JOHN    AnLSON. 

they  received  such  kindness  as  made  the  remembrance  of  that  family 
a  bright  spot  in  the  wanderings  of  memoiy  many  years  after,  and 
meetings  wiili  its  different  members  always  agreeable.  The  dis- 
trict of  country,  however,  which  seemed  to  have  the  greatest 
charm,  and  where  they  lingered  longest,  was  that  between  luverary 
and  Dalmally.  Loch  Awe  with  its  wooded  shores,  noble  bays, 
beautiful  islands,  and  unsurpassed  mountain  range,  topped  by  the 
magniJieent  crest  of  Ben  Cruachan,  whose  mighty  base,  wood- 
skirted,  sends  its  verdure-clad  bounds  gently  to  the  margin  of  the 
deep  waters — was  an  object  too  attractive  for  such  lovers  of  nature 
soon  to  part  from.  Again  and  again  they  retraced  their  steps  to 
this  enchanting  scene. 

In  this  neighborhood  they  found  a  resting-place  for  a  time  in 
Glenorchy,  at  the  schoolmaster's  house.  Dr.  Smith,  the  present 
clergyman  of  Inverary,  remembers,  when  a  youth,  seeing  this  de- 
voted pair  travelling  on  foot  in  these  parts  ;  Wilson  l.ulen  with 
their  travelling  gear,  and  his  gentle  wife  carrying  in  her  hand  the 
lighter  portion  of  it.  lie  says  :  "  I  remember  well  the  feelings  of 
wonder  and  admiration  with  which  I  regarded  his  manliness  and 
her  meekness ;  and  whether  it  be  that  the  thoughts  of  youth  are 
apt  to  become  indelible  impressions,  or  that  what  awakened  them 
was  a  reality  in  this  case,  as  I  am  inclined  to  believe ;  the  thoughts 
and  feelings  of  youth  still  remain,  so  that  over  and  high  above  all 
he  wrote,  I  see  the  man,  the  earnest,  genei'ous  man,  who  th©ugh 
singularly  tolerant  to  others,  cared  not  to  measure  any  odds  against 
his  own  consciousness  of  power.  It  was  on  this  first  visit  in  181r^ 
that  some  of  those  incidents  occurred  which  are  not  easily  forgot- 
ten, in  a  country  Avhere  the  acts  of  a  stranger  are  narrowly  noticed, 
though  kindly  interpreted.  He  and  Mrs.  Wilson,  on  their  way  to 
Glenorchy,  passed  a  little  thatched  cottage  close  by  the  falls  of  the 
Aray.  The  s])Ot  was  beautiful ;  the  weather  had  bo^n  wet,  and  the 
river  rushed  along  its  rocky  bed  with  a  fulness  that  was  promising 
to  the  angler.  It  was  too  attractive  to  be  passed,  so  they  lingered, 
stopped,  and  waited  for  ten  days  or  a  fortnight,  taking  up  their 
quarters  at  the  cottage,  and  living  on  the  easiest  terms  with  its 
inmates. 

"  It  is  yet  told,  how  on  a  Sabbath  morning  the  daughter  who 
served  came  into  the  room — the  only  one — where  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Wilson  slept ;   and  after  adjusting  her  dress  at  the  little  mirror 


THE    TIIGIILANDS,  125 

hanging  by  a  niiil  on  the  unmoitared  wall,  she  was  unable  to  hook 
her  gown  behind,  but  went  at  once  to  the  side  of  the  bed,  from 
which  they  had  not  yet  risen,  saying,  '  Do  help  me  to  hook  my 
gown.'  Mr.  Wilson  sat  up  in  bud,  and  served  iier  with  the  utmost 
good-nature.  In  Glenorchy,  his  time  was  much  occupied  by  fish- 
ing, and  distance  was  not  considered  an  obstacle.  lie  started  one 
morning  at  an  early  hour  to' fish  in  a  loch  which  at  that  time 
abounded  in  trout,  in  the  Braes  of  Glenorchy,  called  Loch  Toila. 
Its  nearest  point  was  thirteen  miles  distant  from  his  lodgings  at 
the  schoolhouse.  On  reaching  it,  and  unscrewing  the  butt  end  of 
his  fishing-rod  to  get  the  top,  he  foimd  he  had  it  not.  Nothing 
daunted,  he  walked  back,  breakfasted,  got  his  fishing-rod,  made  all 
complete,  and  oft'  again  to  Loch  Toila.  lie  could  not  resist  fishing 
on  the  river  when  a  pool  looked  invitingly,  but  he  went  always  on- 
wards, reached  the  loch  a  second  time,  fished  round  it,  and  found 
that  the  long  summer  day  had  come  to  an  end.  He  set  oft'  lor  his 
home  again  with  his  fishing-basket  full,  and  confessing  somewhat 
to  Weariness.  Passing  near  a  farm  house  whose  inmates  he  knew 
(for  he  had  formed  acquaintance  with  all),  he  went  to  get  some 
Ibod.  They  Avere  in  bed,  for  it  was  eleven  o'clock  at  night,  and 
after  rousing  them,  the  hostess  hastened  to  suj)ply  him ;  but  he  re- 
quested her  to  get  him  some  whiskey  and  milk.  She  came  with  a 
bottle-full,  and  a  can  of  milk  with  a  tumbler.  Instead  of  a  tum- 
bler, he  requested  a  bowl,  and  poured  the  half  of  tiie  whiskey  in, 
along  with  half  the  milk.  He  drank  the  mixture  at  a  draught,  and 
while  his  kind  hostess  was  looking  on  with  amazement,  he  pourc<l 
the  remainder  of  the  whiskey  and  milk  into  the  bowl,  and  drank 
that  also.  He  then  proceeded  homeward,  purforniing  a  journey  of 
not  less  than  seventy  miles.* 

"  On  leaving  the  Glenorchy  schoolhouse,  they  Avent  to  Glen 
Etive.  On  their  way  along  the  banks  of  Loch  Etive,  and  near  the 
mouth  of  the  river  Conglas,  they  came  to  a  shepherd's  house,  where 
they  intended  to  wait  for  a  few  days  to  fish.  The  shepherd  Avas 
servant  to  Mr.  Campbell  of  Achlian.  Wilson  had  a  note  to  him 
from  his  master.  The  morning  had  been  fine,  but,  as  often  happens 
in  this  climate,  it  had  become  very  Avet  toAvards  evening.  ^:s  the 
pedestrians  reached  the  cottage  drenched,  on  knocking  at  the  door, 

*  Tbis  adventure  Is  tuld,  with  a  slight  varLitiun,  by  the  Professor  himself  in  his  "  Angliiuanio. 
—  Wilnon'-'i  WorKs. 


126  MEMOIR    OF    JOUN    WILSOX. 

the  shepherd's  wife  thought  not  well  of  them,  perhaps  startled  by 
the  height  and  breadth  of  the  shoulders  of  him  who  stood  at  the 
door,  for  her  husband  was  a  little  man.  She  said  at  once,  '  Go  on 
to  the  farm-house,  we  cannot  take  in  gangrels  here.'  The  note  put 
all  right,  and  the  shepherd  with  his  wife,  both  dead  now,  often  told 
the  circumstance  to  enforce  hospitality  to  strangers,  as  by  so  doing 
one  might  entertain  angels  unawares." 

This  kind  of  reception  was  at  last  no  novelty  to  them.  A  gentle- 
man now  residing  near  Inverness  remembers  their  arriving  at  Foy- 
ers, with  a  letter  of  introduction  to  the  late  proj)rietor  of  that  pic- 
turesque estate,  from  their  friend  Mrs.  Grant.  Wilson  was  dressed 
in  sailor  fashion,  and  his  wife's  attire  was  such  as  suited  a  pedes- 
trian in  the  mountains.  The  Highland  lassie  who  received  them 
at  the  door  had  not  been  in  the  habit  of  seeing  gentlefolks  so  ar- 
rayed, and  naturally  taking  them  for  "gangrel  bodies"  from  the 
South,  ushered  them  into  the  kitchen. 

On  their  returning  route  they  passed  through  a  village  where 
Wilson,  on  a  subsequent  expedition,  met  with  adventures  to  be 
afterwards  recorded.  Their  appearance  is  described  by  the  writer 
of  a  collection  of  Highland  Sketches,*  from  whose  narrative  I  bor- 
row the  substance  of  the  following  account: — 

On  a  fine  summer  evening,  the  eyes  of  a  primitive  northern  vil- 
lagef  were  attracted  by  the  appearance  of  two  travellers,  appa- 
rently man  and  wife,  coming  into  the  village,  dressed  like  cairtls  or 
gipsies.  The  man  was  tall,  broad-shouldered,  and  of  stalwart  pro- 
portions; his  fair  hair  floated  redundant  over  neck  and  shoulders, 
and  his  red  beard  and  whiskers  were  of  portentous  size.  He  bore 
himself  with  the  assured  and  careless  air  of  a  strong  man  rejoicing 
in  his  strength.  On  his  back  was  a  capacious  knapsack,  and  his 
slouched  hat,  garnished  with  fishing-hooks  and  tackle,  showed  he 
was  as  much  addicted  to  fishing  as  to  making  spoons : — 

"  A  stalwart  tinkler  wight  seemed  he, 
That  weel  could  mend  a  pot  or  pan ; 
And  deftly  he  could  thraw  the  flee, 
Or  neatly  weave  the  willow  wan'." 

Tlie  appearance  of  his  companion  contrasted  strikingly  with  thai 

*  Mr.  Willinm  Stewart 

t  Mr.  Stewart  calls  it  TomintouL  bnt  tliat  miust  be  a  mistake,  as  at  a  subsequent  date  myfothei 
speaks  ••{  it  a.*  a  place  visited  for  the  first  time. 


THE    HIGH  LAN  US. 


127 


of  her  mate.  She  was  of  slim  and  fragile  form,  and  more  like  a 
lady  in  her  walk  and  bearing  than  any  wife  of  a  caird  that  had  ever 
been  seen  in  those  parts.  The  natives  were  somewhat  snrprised  to 
see  this  great  caird  making  for  the  head  inn,  the  "  Gordon  Arms," 
where  the  singular  pair  actually  took  up  their  quarters  for  several 
days.  Thence  tliey  wei-e  in  the  habit  of  sallying  forth,  each  armed 
with  a  fishing-rod,  to  the  river  banks,  a  circumstance  the  novelty 
of  which,  as  regarded  the  tinker's  wife,  excited  no  small  curiosity, 
and  many  conjectures  were  hazarded  as  to  the  real  character  of  the 
mysterious  couple. 

A  local  hero  named  the  King  of  the  Drovers,  moved  by  admira- 
tion of  the  peculiar  proportions  of  this  king  of  the  cairds,  felt  a 
great  desire  to  come  into  closer  relations  with  the  stranger.  lie 
was  soon  gratified,  A  meeting  was  arranged,  in  order  to  try 
whether  the  son  of  the  mountain  or  the  son  of  the  plain  were  the 
better  man  in  wrestling,  leaping,  running,  and  drinking ;  and  in  all 
of  these  manly  exercises  the  great  drover,  probably  for  the  first 
time,  found  himself  more  than  matched. 

After  nearly  two  months'  tour,  the  travellers  came  down  by  the 
low-lying  lands  of  Dunkeld,  where  Mr,  Wilson  was  somewhat  sus- 
piciously regarded,  being  by  some  good  folks  looked  upon  as  a 
lunatic,  Mrs,  Izett,  a  lady  of  accomplishments  and  taste,  and  a 
great  admirer  of  genius,  gives  a  descn])tion  of  Mr,  and  Mrs,  Wil- 
son's arrival  at  her  house  at  midnight.  She  writes  to  Mr.  John 
Grieve,  a  friend  of  my  father's,  who  lived  many  years  in  Edinburgh, 
a  man  of  good  judgment,  and  refined  and  elegant  pursuits: — 

"  Had  you  a  glimpse  of  Byron,  Southey,  etc.  ?  By  the  way, 
Southey  brings  your  friend  Wilson  to  my  recollection.  We  had 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  him  and  his  agreeable  partner  here.  Though 
they  were  here  for  several  nights,  I  i-eally  could  not  form  an  opinion 
of  him.  They  arrived  here  late  at  night.  The  following  day,  and 
greatest  part  of  the  tdght^  he  passed  rambling  among  our  glens 
alone,  and  the  day  after,  the  Avhole  of  which  he  passed  within 
doors,  I  happened  unfortunately  to  be  confined  to  my  room  with 
the  headache — at  least  during  the  greatest  part  of  it — and  thus  lost 
the  opportunity  you  kindly  ailbrded  me,  of  enjoying  Avhat  I  slioild 
have  considered  a  great  treat.  There  is  something  very  'Striking  in 
the  countenance  of  Mr,  Wilson,  particularly  his  eye.  His  head  I 
think  quite  a  model  for  a  minstrel ;  there  is  so  much  of  fire,  and  at 


128  MEMOIR    OF    ,TOIIX    WILSON. 

the  same  time  so  much  simpUfity.  His  wanderhigs,  etc.,  etc,  made 
some  people  in  this  quartev — no  matter  wlio — think  liim  quite  mad, 
and  they  will  not  be  persuaded  to  the  contrary.  Tlie  eecentriiities 
of  a  poet  certainly  do  bear  some  resemblance  to  this  at  times,  and 
to  say  truth,  Mr.  Wilson  has  liis  good  sliare  of  these.  I  was  (juite 
tantalized  the  day  he  passed  in  the  house  that  I  was  not  able  to 
appear,  and  avail  myself  of  so  good  an  oppoi-tunity  to  become  ac- 
quainted with  him.  I  saw  more  of  Mrs.  "Wilson,  and  was  much 
pleased  with  her.  She  made  out  her  icalks  you  see,  and  after  this 
you  must  allow  woman  to  possess  resolution  and  perseverance.  1 
greatly  admired  the  patience  and  good-humor  with  which  she  bore 
all  the  privations  and  fatigues  of  her  journey.  She  might  make 
some  of  your  southern  hecmx  blush  for  their  efteminacy." 

My  mother  during  this  tour  walked  one  day  twenty-five  miles. 
The  travellers  had  been  overtaken  by  a  mist  falling  suddenly  over 
them  when  in  Rannoch.  They  missed  the  beaten  track  of  road, 
and  getting  among  dreary  moors,  were  long  before  they  discovered 
footing  that  could  lead  them  to  a  habitation.  My  f  ither  made  his 
wife  sit  down  among  the  moss,  and  taking  ofl"  his  coat,  wrapped 
lier  in  it,  saying  he  would  try  and  find  the  road,  assuring  her,  at 
the  same  time,  that  he  would  not  go  beyond  the  reach  of  her  voice. 
They  could  not  see  a  foot  before  them,  so  dense  and  heavy  was  the 
dreary  mist  that  lay  all  around.  Kissing  his  wife,  and  telling  her 
not  to  fear,  he  sprang  up  from  where  she  sat,  and  bounded  ofi". 
Not  many  seconds  of  time  elapsed,  ere  he  called  her  to  come  to 
him — the  sound  guiding  her  to  where  he  stood.  He  was  upon  the 
road ;  his  foot  had  suddenly  gained  the  right  path,  for  light  there 
M'as  none.  He  told  her  he  had  never  felt  so  grateful  for  any  thing 
in  his  life,  as  for  that  unexpected  discovery  of  the  beaten  track. 
He  knew  well  the  dangers  of  those  wild  Avastes  when  mists  fall, 
and  the  disasters  they  not  unfrequently  cause.  A  weary  walk  it 
was  that  brought  them  to  "  King's  House,"  the  only  inn  at  that 
time  for  travellers  among  these  Highland  fiistnesses. 

On  their  return  from  this  wonderful  tour,  they  were  quite  the 
lions  of  Edinburgh.  It  was  fully  expected  by  the  anxious  commu- 
nity of  the  fairer  sex,  that  Mrs.  Wilson  would  return  weather- 
beaten  and  robbed  of  her  beautiful  complexion,  sunburnt  and 
freckled.  But  such  expectations  were  agreeably  disappointed. 
One  lady  who  called  upon  her  directly  after  her  return,  old  Mrs. 


I 


THE    IIIGirLANDS. 


129 


Mure  of  Caldwell,  exclaimed,  "  Weel,  I  declare,  she's  come  Lack 
bonnier  than  ever :" 

My  father's  own  account  of  their  adventures  is  contained  in  tlio 
following  letter  to  the  Ettrick  Shepherd,  soon  afier  his  return,  writ- 
ten evidently  in  the  full  enjoyment  of  the  highest  health  and  spirits, 
— to  use  his  own  phrase,  "strong  as  an  eagle:" — 

"  Edin'DCUGIi,  September. 

"My  dear  Hogg: — I  am  in  Edinburgh,  and  wish  to  be  out  of  it. 
Mrs.  Wilson  and  I  walked  350  miles  in  the  Highlands,  between  the 
5th  of  .July  and  the  2Gth  of  August,  sojourning  in  divers  glen-^  from 
Sabbath  unto  Sabbath,  iishing,  eating,  and  staring.  I  purpose  ap- 
pearing in  Glasgow  on  Thursday,  where  I  shall  stay  till  the  circuit 
is  over.  I  then  go  to  Elleray,  in  the  character  of  a  Benedictine 
monk,  till  the  begiiming  of  November.  Now  pause  and  attend.  If 
you  will  meet  me  at  Moflat,  on  October  Gth,  I  will  walk  or  mail  it 
with  you  to  Elleray,  and  treat  you  there  with  fowls  and  Irish 
whiskey.  Immediately  on  the  receipt  of  this,  write  a  letter  to  me, 
at  Mr.  Smith's  bookshop,  Hutcheson  street,  Glasgow,  saying  pos 
itively  if  you  will,  or  will  not  do  so.  If  you  don't,  I  will  lick  i/ou^ 
and  fish  up  Douglas  Burn  before  you,  next  time  I  come  to  Ettrick. 

I  saAV  a  letter  from  you  to  M the  other  day,  by  which  you  seem 

to  be  alive  and  well.  You  are  right  in  not  making  verses  when 
you  can  catch  trout.  Francis  JeiFrey  leaves  Edinburgh  this  day  for 
Holland  and  France.  I  presume,  after  destroying  the  king  of  the 
Netherlands,  he  intends  to  annex  that  khigdom  to  France,  and 
assume  the  supreme  power  of  the  United  Countries,  under  the  title 
of  Geoffrey  the  First.  You,  he  will  make  Poet  Laureate  and  Fish- 
monger, and  me  admiral  of  the  Mosquito  Fleet. 

"If  you  have  occasion  soon  to  write  to  Murr.iy,  ])rny  introduce 
something  about  '  The  City  of  the  Plague,'  as  I  shall  j)robably  off.'r 
him  ti)at  poem  in  about  a  fortnight  or  sooner.  Of  course  I  do  not 
wish  you  to  say  that  the  poem  is  utterly  worthless.  I  think  that  a 
bold  eulogy  from  you  (if  administered  immediately)  would  be  of 
service  to  me ;  but  if  you  do  write  about  it,  do  not  tell  him  that  I 
have  any  intention  of  offering  it  to  him,  but  you  may  say,  you  hear 
I  am  going  to  offer  it  to  a  London  bookseller. 

"  We  stayed  seven  days  at  Mrs.  Izett's,  at  Kinnaird,  and  were 
most  kindly  received.     Mrs.  Izett  is  a  great  ally  of  yours,  and  is  a 


130  MEMOIR    OF    JOHN    ^VILSON. 

fme  eroature.  I  killed  in  the  Highlands  170  dozen  of  trouts  One 
day  nineteen  dozen  and  a  half,  another  seven  dozen.  I,  one  morr.- 
ing,  killed  ten  trouts  that  weighed  nine  pounds.  In  Loch  Awe,  in 
three  days,  I  killed  seventy-six  pounds'  weight  of  fish,  all  with  the 
fly.  The  Gaels  were  astonished.  I  shot  two  roebucks,  and  had 
nearly  caught  a  red-deer  by  the  tail — /  teas  wit/tin  half  a  mile  of 
it  at  farthest.  The  good  folks  in  the  Highlands  are  not  dirty. 
They  are  clean,  decent,  hospitable,  ugly  people.  We  domiciliated 
with  many,  and  found  no  remains  of  the  great  plague  of  fleas,  etc., 
that  devastated  the  country  from  the  time  of  Ossian  to  tlie  acces- 
sion of  George  the  Third.  We  were  at  Loch  Katrine,  Loch  Lomond, 
Inverary,  Dalmally,  Loch  Etive,  Glen  Etive,  Dalness,  Appin,  Balla- 
chulish,  P^ort  William,  Moy.  Dahvhiimy,  Loch  Ericht  (you  dog). 
Loch  Rannoch,  Glen  Lyon,  Taymouth,  Blair-Athole,  Bruar,  Perth, 
Edinburgh.     Is  not  Mrs.  Wilson  immortalized  ? 

"  I  know  of  'Cona.'*  It  is  very  creditable  to  our  excellent  friend, 
but  will  not  sell  any  more  than  the  'Isle  of  Palms,'  or  'The  White 
Doe.'f  The  '  White  Doe'  is  not  in  season  ;  venison  is  not  hked  in 
Eduiburgh.  It  wants  flavor;  a  good  Ettrick  wether  is  preferable. 
Wordsworth  has  more  of  the  poetical  character  than  any  living 
writer,  but  he  is  not  a  man  of  first-rate  intellect  ;  his  genius  oversets 
him.  Southey's  'Roderic'  is  not  a  first-rate  work;  the  remorse  of 
Roderic  is  that  of  a  Chiistian  devotee,  rather  than  that  of  a  de- 
throned monarch.  His  battles  are  ill  fought.  There  is  no  proces- 
sional march  of  events  in  the  poem,  no  tendency  to  one  great  end, 
like  a  river  increasing  in  majesty  till  it  reaches  the  sea.  Xeither  is 
there  national  character,  Spanish  or  Moorish.  Xo  sublime  imagery ; 
no  profound  passion.  Southey  Avrote  it,  and  Southey  is  a  man  of 
talent ;  but  it  is  his  worst  poem. 

"  Scott's  '  Field  of  Waterloo'  I  have  seen.  What  a  poem ! — such 
bald  and  nerveless  language,  mean  imagery,  commonplace  senti- 
ments, and  clumsy  versification  !  It  is  beneath  criticism.  L^nless 
the  latter  part  of  the  battle  be  very  fine  indeed,  this  poem  will  in- 
jure him. 

"  Wordsworth   is    dished.      Southey  is   in  purgatory ;  Scott  is 

*  dma  or  the  Vale  of  Clicyd,  and  other  Poems.  Edinburgh.  12ino.  The  author  of  this  little 
volume  was  Mr.  James  Gray,  one  of  the  teacliers  in  the  High  School,  an  accomplished  man,  a 
fiiend  i>f  mr  father's.  He  afterwards  took  orders  in  the  Church  of  England,  and  was  appointed 
to  a  ch.iplsincy  in  Indix     He  died  in  September,  1S30. 

+  Wordiworth's  "  White  Doe  of  Evlstone." 


THE    IIIGnLANDS.  131 

dying ;  and  Byron  is  married.  Herbert*  is  frozen  to  death  in  Scan- 
dinaria.  Moore  has  lost  his  nianhness.  Coleridge  is  nlways  in  a 
fog.  Joanna  Baillie  is  writing  a  system  of  cookery.  ^Montgomery 
is  in  a  madhouse,  or  ouglit  to  be.  Campbell  is  sick  of  a  consti[)a- 
tion  ill  the  bowels.  Hogg  is  herding  sheep  in  Ettrick  forest;  and 
Wilson  has  taken  the  phigue.  O  wretched  writers !  Unfortunate 
bards!  What  is  Bobby  Miller'sf  back  sliop  to  do  this  winter! 
Alas!  alas!  alas!  a  wild  doe  is  a  noble  animal;  write  an  address  to 
one,  and  it  shall  be  inferior  to  one  I  have  written — for  half  a  barrel 
of  red  herrings  II 

"The  Highlanders  are  not  a  poetical  people.  They  are  too 
national ;  too  proud  of  their  history.  They  imagine  that  a  colley- 
shangy  between  the  Macgregors  and  Campbells  is  a  sublime  event ; 
and  they  overlook  mountains  four  thousand  feet  high.  If  Ossian 
did  write  the  poems  attributed  to  him,  or  any  poems  like  them,  he 
Avas  a  dull  dog,  and  deserved  never  to  taste  whiskey  as  long  as  he 
lived.  A  man  who  lives  forever  among  mist  and  mountains, 
knows  better  than  to  be  alwa^'S  prosing  about  thein.  Methinks  I 
feel  about  objects  familiar  to  infancy  and  manhood,  but  when  we 
speak  of  ihem,  it  is  only  upon  great  occasions,  and  in  situations  of 
deep  passion.     Ossian  was  probably  born  in  a  Hat  country  !§ 

"  Scctt  has  written  good  lines  in  the  'Lord  of  the  Isles,'  but  he 
has  not  done  justice  to  the  Sound  of  Mull,  which  is  a  glorious 
strait. 

"  The  Northern  Highlanders  do  not  admire  Waverlei/,  so  I 
presume  the  South  Highlanders  despise  Guy  Matineriny.  The 
Westmoreland  peasants  think  Wordsworth  a  fool.  In  Borrow- 
dale,  Southey  is  not  known  to  exist.  I  met  ten  men  at  Hawick 
who  did  not  think  Hogg  a  poet,  and  the  whole  City  of  Glasgow 
think  me  a  madman.  So  much  for  the  voice  of  the  people  being 
the  voice  of  God.  I  left  ray  snuff-box  in  your  cottage.  Take  cai'e 
of  it.  The  Anstruther  bards  liave  advertised  their  anniversary  ;  I 
forget  the  day. 

*  The  Honorable  William  Herbert,  Dean  of  Manchester,  died  in  1S47,  in  his  TOth  year,  lid 
nas  author  of  several  volumes  or  translations  from  the  Icelandic  and  other  northern  languaiti-s. 
The  poem  here  referred  to  is  evidently  "  Helsa,"  which  was  published  in  1S15. 

+  One  of  the  principal  Edinburgh  booksellers. 

}  An  excusable  challenge.    The  "Address  to  a  Wild  Deer"  is  one  of  hi.s  happiest  coinpositiouj, 

§  I"or  a  very  dill'orcnt  and  njore  serious  criticism  of  Ossian's  Poems  by  him,  see  BhicktoooiT* 
iViir/iiziiic  for  NovktiiImi-,  1S1!). 


132  MEMOIR   OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

"I  wish  Lieutenant  Gray  of  the  Marines*  liad  been  devoured  by 
the  lion  he  once  carried  on  board  his  sliip  to  the  Dey  of  Algiers,  or 
that  he  was  kept  a  perpetual  prisoner  by  the  Moors  in  Barbary. 
Did  you  hear  that  Tennantf  had  been  taken  before  the  Session  for 
an  olfence  against  good  morals?  If  you  did  not,  neither  did  1. 1 
Indeed  it  is,  on  many  accounts,  exceedingly  improbable.  \ 

"  Yours,  truly,  JouN  Wilson." 

Apparently  the  Isle  of  Palms  had  by  this  time  made  way  with 
Bonie  success,  if  it  did  not  quite  realize  the  hopes  of  the  author. 
Previously  to  the  writing  of  the  above  letter,  he  had  put  himself  in 
communication  with  Mr.  Smith,  in  reference  to  the  publication  of 
his  new  volume: — 

"  Edinburgh,  53  Queen  Street, 
September  5,  1815. 
"I  have  as  many  poems  as  would  make  such  another  volume  as 
the  Isle  of  Palm s^  which  I  wish  to  ])ul)lish  this  winter.  The  long- 
est is  nearly  4,000  lines,  I  have  as  yet  spoken  of  it  to  no  one,  friend 
or  bookseller.  I  have  made  up  my  mind  not  to  publish  it  unless  I 
sell  the  copyright  for  a  specific  sum.  I  shall  not  correspond  with 
any  other  person  on  the  subject  till  I  hear  from  you,  and  what  your 
intentions  may  be  concerning  it. 

"  I  hope  that  you  are  quite  well.      I  have  been  in  the  Highlands 
for  two  months,  Avith  Mrs.  Wilson,  and  am  strong  as  an  eagle." 
Having  received  no  reply,  he  wrote  a  few  days  later : — 
"  I  felt  myself  bound  by  frieiulshi})  and  other  ties  to  acquaint  you 
with  my  hitention  before  I  comniuiiic-ated  it  to  any  other  person  of 
the  trade.      As  the  winter  is  fast  approaching,  I  wish  to  have  this 
business  settled,  ere  long,  either  in  one  way  or  another,  and  will 
therefore  be  glad   to  hear  from  you  as  soon  as  convenient.      It  ia 
probable  that  I  may  appear  in  Glasgow  during  the  Circuit,  to  smell 
the  air  of  the  new  court,  but  my  motions  are  uncertain.      If  I  do 
make  it  out,  I  trust  the  oysters  will  be  in  season." 
Early  in  October  he  writes  again,  from  Glasgow  : — 
"  The  volume  which  I  have  now  ready  for  the  press  will  contain 
ajiy  number  of  pages  the  publisher  may  think  fit,  from  three  to  four 

•  Charles  Gray,  author  of  several  Scotoli  ballads,  f)oems,  and  sonjrs.     lie  died  in  1S5L 
t  W'lliani  Teunaut,  Professor  of  Orieutal  Langiuit-'' »  in  St.  Andrews;  Author  of  "  Anstcr  Fair;" 
died  in  184:3. 


ELLKR^VY.  133 

aundred,  so  as  to  be  sold  for  twelve  sliillings,  and  to  l)e  a  counter- 
part of  tlie  Isle  of  Palms. 

"  The  first  and  loni^est  poem  is  entitled  '  The  City  of  the  Plague, 
IS  dramatic,  and  consists  of  nearly  four  thousand  lines,  or  between 
three  and  four  thousand.  The  scene  is  laid  in  London,  during  the 
great  plague  of  1G65,  and  the  poem  is  intended  to  give  a  general 
picture  of  the  situation  of  a  plaLTue-struek  city,  along  with  the  history 
of  a  few  individuals  who  constitute  the  persons  of  the  drama. 

"The  second  poem,  'The  Convict,'  is  likewise  dramatic  and  in 
blank  verse,  and  its  object  is  to  delineate  the  passions  of  a  man 
innocently  condemned  to  death,  and  the  feelings  of  his  dearest 
relations.     It  is  between  two  and  three  thousand  lines. 

"  The  third  poem  is  a  dramatic  fragment,  entitled  'The  ^Mariner's 
Return,'  about  six  hundred  lines,  and  principally  consisting  of 
descriptions  of  sea  scenery. 

"  The  remainder  of  the  volume  will  be  made  up  to  the  length 
deemed  necessary  for  poems  of  a  miscellaneous  character,  in  rhyme 
and  blank  verse. 

"  It  is  not  my  intention  to  publish  tliis  volume  unless  I  dispose 
of  the  copyright;  and  the  sum  I  have  set  on  it  is  £200. 

"If  you  feel  any  inclination  to  purchase  it  of  yourself.,  one  word 
can  do  it ;  if  not,  one  word  between  friends  is  sufficient. 

"If  you  determine  against  purchasing  it  of  yourself  then  you 
can  inform  me  whether  or  not  you  would  be  willing,  along  with 
Murray,  or  Miller  in  Edinburgh,  or  any  other  bookseller,  to  give 
me  that  sum  for  the  copyright. 

"  If  you  determine  against  having  any  thing  to  do  with  it,  as  a 
principal,  on  these  terms,  then,  for  the  present,  the  subject  drops." 

Mr.  Smith  appears  to  have  declined  tlie  sole  responsibility  of  the 
publication,  which  was  ultimately  undertaken  by  Constable,  along 
with  whose  name  those  of  Smith  a!id  of  Longman  appeared  on  the 
title-page.  Shortly  after  this  communication  my  fother  paid  a  visit 
to  Elleray,  probably  for  the  purpose  of  inspecting  the  state  of  the 
place,  and  making  arrangements  for  letting  it.  On  the  Slst  of  Oc 
tober  he  reports  his  progress  to  his  wife  : — 

"Elleray,  Friday  night.  Oct.  31,  1815. 
"  Deakest  Jane  : — I  am  not  to  blame  for  not  having  written 
before  this  night,  owing  first  to  a  mistake  about  the  post-night ; 


1.34  MEMOIR   OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

and  secoiully,  to  the  want  of  sealing-wax  or  wafer ;  so,  if  angry, 
pray  become  appeased.  On  Monday  I  reached  Penrith,  the  weather 
b.-ing  cohlish  to  Hawick  ;  then  I  took  inside  to  Carlisle,  thence  out- 
side to  Penrith.  At  Penrith  I  dined  with  an  old  Oxonian,  and 
walked  on  to  Pooley  Bridge  ;  there  I  found  Jeany*  waiting  for 
me,  and  proceeded  to  Patterdale,  which  I  reached  about  ten 
o'clock  ;  dark  and  stormy  night.  On  Tuesday  morning  I  walked 
to  Ambleside,  sending  Billy  (whom  I  found  there)  with  pony  to 
Elleray.  From  Ambleside  I  walked  to  De  Quincey's,  with  Avhom 
I  dined ;  we  returned  per  coach  to  Ambleside,  and  drank  punch 
with  Dr.  Scandler,  who  is  considerably  better.  The  night  being 
indifferent,  I  stayed  all  night  at  Chapman's  ;  on  Wednesday  I  sent 
for  pony  and  rode  to  Elleray.  I  found  Mrs.  Ritson  alive  and  well. 
Rode  down  and  called  at  the  parsonage  ;  all  glad  to  see  me.  Called 
at  the  Island ;  saw  Mrs.  Curwen  and  children,  well  and  looking 
well ;  W.  Curwen  in  Cumberland  ;  dined  therefore  at  Ullock's ; 
went  in  the  evening  to  parsonage  and  drank  tea.  Thursday, 
walked  about  Elleray ;  dined  at  Pringle's  ;  met  the  Baxters  and 
Greaves  ;  pleasant  party,  Greave  falling  asleep  immediately  after 
dinner.  Mr.  Pringle  is  looking  tolerably,  though  I  fear  he  will  feel 
the  effects  of  the  accident  all  his  days.  Blind  of  one  eye,  and  con- 
fused at  times  in  his  head.  Mrs.  Pringle  handsome  and  kind,  and 
Miss  SomerA-ille  with  her.  Friday,  have  spent  all  this  day  along 
with  myself  and  Mr,  Ritson,  and  Billy  at  Elleray.  The  place  which 
had  been  a  wilderness  is  again  trim  and  neat,  and  looks  as  well  as 
possible.  The  trees  are  greatly  grown,  and  every  thing  seems 
thriving  and  prosperous.  There  are  eight  chickens  with  whom  I 
am  forming  a  friendship ;  and  I  feel  as  idle  as  ever. 

"  I  dare  say  no  more  about  a  place  so  dear  to  us  both  ;  would  to 
God  you  were  here  ! 

"But  next  time  I  come,  whenever  that  is,  you  shall  be  with  me. 
I  have  not  seen  the  '  stamp-master.'  Saturday  and  Sunday  I  intend 
keeping  alone,  and  at  Elleray.  Monday  I  shall  probably  go  to  Hol- 
low Oak  or  Ulverston.  The  Misses  Taylor  have  gone  to  Bath.  Of 
the  Hardens  I  know  nothing.  Mr.  Lloyd  is  worse  than  ever,  and 
gone  to  Birmingham;  I  believe  never  to  return.  Kitty  Dawes 
(mother  to  Dawes)  is  dead.  So  is  the  old  miller  of  Restock,  and 
-  "...^  Bingham  of  Kendal,  two  well-known  oockers. 

*  A  tiivurito  i>ouy. 


I 


ELLERAY.  135 

"  De  Qtiincey  will  accompany  me  to  Scotland  ;  but  I  will  write 
about  liis  rooms  in  a  day  or  two. 

"  I  have  not  yet  been  in  the  new  house.  Tlie  little  detestable  bit 
of  avenue  looks  tolerable.  Of  Robert  and  Eliza  I  know  nothing. 
Kiss  everybody  you  meet  for  me  up-stairs.  Write  to  me,  care  of 
Mrs.  Ullock,  immediately.     Thine  with  eternal  aftection, 

"  John  Wilson." 

Of  what  happened  in  the  interval  between  this  date  and  January 
following  there  is  no  record.  No  doubt  he  was  busy  with  the 
proof-sheets  of  the  City  of  the  Plagiie.  In  January,  1816,  he  was 
again  at  EUeray,  and  thus  relates  his  adventures  to  Mrs.  AVilson : — 

"  BowNESS,  Sunday,  January,  1816. 

"  Dearest  Czarina  : — I  hope  that  you  received  my  scroll  from 
Carlisle,  which  I  committed  to  the  custody  of  Richard,  and  there- 
fore doubt  not  that  he  would  fulfil  his  trust. 

"  I  supped  at  the  Pearsons',  and  was  very  kindly  received  there; 
Miss  Alms  being  in  love  witli  me,  which  I  think  I  told  you  before. 
Going  down  to  their  house  I  fell  ujyon  a  slide,  and  was  most  severely 
bruised,  so  much  so  that  I  had  to  be  carried  into  a  shop,  and  drink 
wine  which  the  people  very  kindly  gave  me.  This  was  an  infernal 
fill,  my  rump  and  head  suffering  a  dire  concussion  against  one  of 
the  most  fashionable  streets.  I  however  made  out  my  visit,  though 
still  rather  sick  and  headachy  all  night.  Indeed  my  journey  seemed 
to  consist  wholly  of  disasters.  In  the  morning  (no  coach  going 
sooner)  I  pursued  my  journey  to  Penrith — day  cold  and  snowy — 
outside  for  cheapness.  I  then  got  tired  of  the  coach,  and,  after 
drinking  a  glass  of  wine  and  water,  started  on  foot  for  Coleridge's 
at  Pooley  Bridge  ;  there  I  dined,  and,  at  half-past  seven  in  the  even- 
ing, feeling  myself  bold  and  chivalrous,  I  started  again  for  Patter- 
dale,  against  the  ineffectual  remonstrances  of  the  whole  family  who 
all  prophesied  immediate  death.  The  night  was  not  dark,  and  iu 
two  hours  I  was  seated  in  the  kitchen  of  iSIr.  Dobscm  at  a  good  fire. 
I  then  proposed  crossing  Kirkstone,  when  shrieks  .arose  from  every 
quarter,  and  I  then  found  a  young  man  had  just  been  brought  iu 
dead,  having  been  lost  on  Sunday  evening  coming  from  Ambleside, 
and  only  found  that  day.  Of  course,  the  melancholy  accident  made 
me  give  up  all  thouglits  of  pursuing  my  journey  till  daylight,  so 


136  IME.MOIli    OF    JOHN    "WILSON. 

I  supped  and  went  to  bed.  Next  forenoon  at  eleven  o'elock,  a  partyj 
of  men  aiTived  from  Ambleside  with  the  Coroner,  and  I  Ibund  from 
them  tliat  the  road  though  difficult  was  passable,  so  I  faced  the  hill 
and  arrived  safe  at  Chai)man's  in  two  hours  and  ten  minutes,  hav- 
ing slid  along  with  great  rapidity.  The  thaw  was  beginning,  and 
had  I  Avaited  another  day,  the  snow  Avould  have  been  soft  and  im- 
passable, as  it  lay  in  many  places  ten  feet  deep,  and  I  walked  over 
two  gates.  I  dined  with  William  Curwen,  and  walked  to  De  Quin- 
cey's,  which  I  reached  at  half-past  one  o'clock  in  the  morning  ;  he 
was  at  the  iVaJ,  and  when  he  returned  about  three  o'clock,  found 
me  asleep  in  his  bed.  I  reached  Elleray  only  last  night,  having 
spent  the  whole  of  Saturday  with  the  lesser  man  ;  he  walked  to 
Elleray  with  me,  where  we  drank  tea ;  he  then  returned  to  Gras- 
mere ;  and  no  sheets  being  on  the  bed,  I  walked  to  Bowness,  and 
stayed  all  night.  I  am  still  here,  :ind  it  rains  severely.  As  yet.  El 
leray  is  all  in  the  dark.  I  shall  dine  there  to-morrow  alone,  but  not 
stay  all  night,  for  the  lonesoineness  is  insupportable.  I  will  write 
a  longer  letter,  and  give  you  news.  Nobody,  I  fear,  has  died  here 
since  I  saw  you.  Billy  is  well,  and  his  two  nephews  are  at  present 
residing  with  him  at  Elleray.  His  father  and  mother  are  expected 
daily,  and  a  few  distant  relations. 

"  Lloyd  is  in  a  mad-house  ;  Wordsworth  and  family  from  home. 
Write  me  on  receipt  of  this  (if  not  before) ;  direct  to  me  at  Mrs. 
Ullock's,  Bowness.     Eternally  thine  with  all  affection, 

"J.  Wilson." 

During  the  next  month  he  was  constantly  occupied  with  the 
printers,  and  on  the  13th  of  March  he  writes  to  Mr.  Smith: — 

"I  ought  long  ago  to  have  acknowledged  the  receipt  of  your  dif- 
ferent letters  ;  but  I  have  been  busier  than  any  man  ever  was  before. 

"My  volume  went  round  the  trade  to-day;  with  what  success  I 
know^  not.  My  expectations  are  but  moderate.  The  volume  is  too 
thin  and  so  is  the  paper,  but  I  believe  there  is  more  printing  and 
pages  than  10s.  Gd.  books  in  general.  I  put  your  name  into  the 
title  page,  which  I  shall  ever  be  happy  to  do  on  similar  occasions. 

"These  foilures  in  Glasgow  Avill  not  be  favorable  to  me  as  an 
author." 

The  reception  of  the  voluiiu'  \vas  altogc'ther  favorable;  and  it  was 
recognized  as  indicating  a  marke<l   increase  of  power  and  discijjline 


LIFE    IK     EDINBL'KGU.  137 

in  the  mind  of  tlie  author.  With  the  excepti^.n  of  tliat  first  sugges- 
tion  of  the  subject  ah'eady  referred  to,  I  lind  no  aUusion  to  t!ie  prin- 
cipal poem  nor  any  trace  of  it  in  note-books.  Of  the  other  poems, 
there  are  but  four  which  correspond  in  title  with  any  in  the  "  List 
of  Subjects"  of  1812.  These  are  "The  Children's  Dance,"  "Th 
Convict,"  "Solitude,"  and  "The  Farewell  and  Return." 

In  the  next  number  of  the  Ediiihur(jh  llevieic^  tlie  volume  received 
a  friendly  criticism  from  the  hand  of  Jeflrey,  who,  in  reply  to  a 
letter  from  the  author,  unfortunately  not  extant,  addressed  the  fol- 
lowing interesting  letter  to  him : — 

"  ]\[y  dear  Sir  : — I  am  extremely  gratified  by  your  letter,  and 
thank  you  very  sincerely,  both  for  the  kindness  it  expresses,  and 
the  confidence  it  seems  to  place  in  me.  It  is  impossible,  I  think,  to 
read  your  writings  without  feeling  affection  for  the  writer  ;  and 
under  the  influence  of  such  a  feeling,  I  doubt  whether  it  is  possUde 
to  deal  with  them  with  the  same  severe  impai'tiality  with  wliich 
works  of  equiil  literary  merit,  but  without  that  attraction,  might 
probably  be  treated.  Nor  do  I  think  that  this  is  desirable  or  would 
even  be  fiiir ;  for  part,  and  not  the  least  part  of  the  merit  of  poetry, 
consists  in  its  moral  eiFects,  and  the  power  of  exciting  kind  and 
generous  affections  seems  entitled  to  as  much  admiration  as  that  of 
presenting  pleasing  images  to  the  fancy. 

"You  wish,  however,  to  be  treated  as  a  stranger^  and,  I  think,  I 
have  actually  treated  you  as  one,  for  the  partiality  Avhich  I  have 
already  mentioned  as  irresistibly  produced  by  your  writings,  cer- 
tainly has  not  been  lessened  by  the  little  personal  intercourse  we 
have  had.  I  am  not  aware  that  it  has  been  materially  increased  by 
that  cause,  and  was  inclined  to  believe  that  I  should  have  felt  the 
same  kindliness  towards  the  author  of  the  work  I  am  reviewing, 
although  I  had  never  seen  his  face.  As  to  showing  you  no  favor 
for  the  future  on  the  score  of  the  past,  I  am  afraid  if  I  do  not  exactly 
co:ni)ly  with  your  request,  it  will  be  more  owing  to  my  own  selfish 
unwillingness  to  retract  my  former  opinions  and  abandon  my  pre- 
dictions, than  from  any  excess  of  good-nature  towards  their  objects. 
However,  your  request  is  very  natural  and  manly,  and  I  shall  do 
Avhat  I  can  to  let  you  have  nothing  more  than  justice,  and  save  you 
from  ha\  ing  any  other  obligations  to  your  critic  than  for  his  dili- 
gence and  integrity. 


13S  MKMc.ilK    VF   JOll^■     WILSON. 

"  As  to  Wordsworth,  I  shall  only  say,  that  while  I  cannot  at  all 
agree,  nor  is  it  necessary,  in  your  estimate  of  his  poetical  talents,  1 
love  and  lionor  the  feeliiiEcs  by  which  I  think  your  judgment  has 
been  misled,  and  by  which  I  most  readily  admit  that  your  conduct 
shouM  be  sjoverned.  I  assure  you  I  ara  not  the  least  hurt  or  of- 
fended  at  hearing  his  poetry  extolled,  or  my  remarks  upon  it 
arraigned  as  unjust  or  erroneous ;  only  I  hope  you  will  not  set  them 
<iown  as  sure  proof  of  moral  depravity,  and  utter  want  of  all  good 
aftections.  I  should  be  sorry  that  any  good  man  should  think  this 
of  me  as  an  individual;  as  to  the  opinion  that  maybe  formed  of  my 
critical  qualifications,  it  is  impossible  for  any  one  to  be  more  indif- 
ferent than  myself  1  am  conscious  of  being  quite  sincere  in  all  the 
opinions  I  express,  but  I  am  the  furthest  in  the  world  from  thinking 
them  iniallible,  or  even  having  any  considerable  assurance  of  their 
appearing  right  to  persons  of  good  judgment. 

"  I  wish  I  had  more  leisure  to  talk  to  you  of  such  matters ;  but  I 
cannot  at  present  afford  to  indulge  myself  any  further.  1  think  we 
now  understand  each  other  in  a  way  to  prevent  all  risk  of  future 
misunderstanding.     Believe   me   always,   dear  sir,  very  faithfully 

yours,  "F.  Jeffeey. 

"92  George  Street,  Saturday  Eienitig." 

The  pleasant  relations  thus  established  between  these  two  men 
led  to  a  still  closer  intimacy,  which,  though  unhappily  interrupted 
by  subsequent  events,  was  renewed  in  after  years,  when  the  bitter- 
ness of  old  controversies  had  yielded  to  the  hallowing  influences  of 
time. 

Whether  there  was  any  work  done  during  this  year  in  poetry  or 
prose,  I  cannot  say ;  but  in  the  way  of  acquiring  materials  for  future 
"  Recreations  of  Christopher  Xorth"  there  was  undoubtedly  a  good 
deal.  All  the  other  memorials  at  least  that  I  have  of  this  year,  and 
a  good  part  of  the  next,  are  connected  almost  entirely  with  angling, 
and  extensive  "raids"  into  the  Highlands.  It  would  almost  seem  as 
if  there  was  an  unwillingness  fairly  to  cast  anchor  and  remain  stead- 
ily at  work.  The  stimulus  to  literary  exertion  had  not  yet  come  with 
imperative  force,  and  in  the  interval,  before  he  fairly  girded  himself 
up  to  regular  work,  he  sought  strength  for  it  in  his  love  of  nature 
and  pedestrian  wandering.  These  excursions,  it  is  but  fair  to  ob- 
serve, however,  appear  to  have  been  confined  to  the  proper  vacation 
time  of  his  jirofession. 


THE    IIIGIILAXDS.  139 

Acrain  and  nirain  lie  roams  over  country  he  had  so  often  trod  be- 
fore,  and  in  the  year  following  that  in  which  he  introduced  Mrs. 
Wilson  to  the  beauties  of  his  native  land,  he  returned  to  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Loch  Awe,  extending  his  tour  into  Inverness-shire,  as 
we  find  from  the  following  letters  written  in  the  spring  and  autumn 

of  1816:— 

"  ACHLIAN,  29th  Ai>ril,  1816. 

"  Dear  Jane  : — I  have  risen  at  six  o'clock  to  write  to  you.  Your 
letter,  I  find,  will  not  be  here  till  Tuesday  morning,  I  know  not 
why.     Curse  all  country  posts  ! 

"To  be  brief,  James  Fergusson*  and  I  reached  Glasgow  on  Mon- 
day; he  went  to  the  play;  I  did  not.  On  Tuesday,  I  was  tempted 
to  stay  in  Glasgow,  and  saw  Kean  as  Zanga  in  '  The  Revenge.'  It 
is  heavy  work,  and  he  acted  poorly,  and  is  in  every  respect  inferior 
to  Kem])le.  On  Wednesday,  I  went  to  Greenock  by  steamboat, 
of  which  the  machinery  went  wrong,  and  blew  up  part  of  the  deck, 
on  which  myself  and  two  fattish  gentlemen  were  sitting.  This 
stopped  us,  and  after  a  long  delay  we  got  into  aiiotlier  stenmboat, 
and  arrived  at  Greenock.  It  was  four  o'clock.  I  found  that  I 
could  only  cross  the  water  that  night,  so  I  thought  it  was  needless  ; 
dined  with  Bissland,  and  went  to  the  play,  when  I  again  saw  Kean. 
I  was  too  near  him  ;  he  acted  with  occasional  vigor,  and  his  action 
is  often  good,  but  he  rants  abominably,  and  on  the  whole  is  no  actor 
at  all.  On  Thursday,  I  hired  a  boat  and  got  to  Ardentinny — dis- 
tance eight  miles ;  there  fished  a  few  miles,  and  got  six  dozen  ; 
then  walked  to  Strachur,  but  on  the  way  cut  my  foot  severely,  and 
awoke  on  Friday  morning  dog-lame.  With  great  difficulty  I 
reached,  on  Friday,  the  waterfall  above  Tnvcrary,  and  was  obliged 
to  stop  in  a  small  cottage  there.  On  Saturda}',  I  fished  uj)  the 
stream  (as  when  with  you),  and  killed  eighteen  dozen.  When 
evening  came  I  was  eight  miles  from  Achlian,  and  so  lame  that  I 
could  not  walk  a  step.  I  procured,  therefore,  a  cart  to  drag  me 
there,  where  I  arrived  at  eleven  o'clock,  and  found  a  warm  Avel- 
come.  Yesterday  I  rested,  and  to-day  intend  going  out  in  the  boat 
for  a  little  fishing.  This  wound  in  my  heel  will  render  my  visit  to 
Megerney  impossible,  for  there  is  no  horse-road,  so  I  will  wriie  to- 
day informing  I>Icnzies  of  my  mishap.  Is  not  this  a  severe  trial  to 
one's  temper  ? 

*  A  member  of  the  Scottish  bar,  who  iiiarriid  a  sister  of  my  father's fiieiul,  William  liinilop. 


1-10  MEMOIR   or   JOHN    WILSON. 

"The  wound  is  in  itself  insignificant,  but  is  just  on  the  sole  of  my 
heel,  and  is  much  festered,  about  the  size  of  a  shilling,  so  that  I 
cannot  walk  a  single  step  without  the  greatest  dithculiy  and  pain. 

"  I  shall  ride  from  this,  back  to  Greenock  if  possible.  Immedi- 
ately on  getting  this  (which  I  expect  will  be  Thursday  forenoon), 
write  that  moment — directed  to  me  at  Achlian,  hy  Inverary.  C 
"Wednesday  the  8th,  write  to  me  at  Miss  Sym's,  Glasgow,  where  i 
will  be  on  the  10th,  and  at  Edinburgh,  on  Saturday  the  11th,  prob- 
ably aboxit  six  o'clock.  Your  other  letters,  of  course,  become  use- 
less.     I  will  write  again  first  opportunity. 

"  Thine  with  heart  and  soul  till  death, 

"J.  Wilson." 

The  manner  in  which  he  wounded  his  foot  is  not  a  httle  charac- 
teristic. He  does  not  mention  the  real  cause  of  it  to  his  wife,  but 
curiously  enough  a  story  communicated  by  Dr.  Smith,  of  Inverary, 
whose  reminiscences  have  been  already  quoted  from,  explains  this 
circumstance,  the  date  of  the  occurrence  he  relates  agreeing  \\\\\\ 
that  of  the  above  letter  : — 

"  At  a  point  on  tlie  road  near  to  the  house  which  I  now  occupy, 
and  close  by  the  river-side,  as  he  was  on  his  way  to  Achlian,  a 
large  party  of  tinkers  were  pitching  their  tents.  There  were  men, 
women,  and  children — a  band — some  preparing  to  go  to  fish  for 
their  supper  in  the  adjoining  pool,  and  some,  more  full  of  action, 
were  leaping.  They  were  tall,  powerful  young  men,  ready  for  any 
frolic,  and  all  the  bonhomie  of  Mr.  Wilson's  nature  was  stirr^-d  in 
him.  He  joined  the  group  ;  talked  with  them  and  leaped  with 
them.  They  were  rejoicing  in  their  sport,  when  he,  finding  him. 
Belf  hard  pressed,  stripped  off  coat  and  shoes  ;  but  the  river  had  had 
its  channel  once  on  the  spot ;  it  had  left  a  sharp  stone,  which  was 
only  concealed  by  the  thin  coating  of  earth  over  it ;  his  heel  came 
down  on  that  stone  ;  it  wounded  him  severely  ;  and,  unable  to  bear 
a  shoe  on,  he  had  to  go  to  Achlian.  The  tinkers  Avould  rather  that 
the  accident  had  liappened  to  one  of  themselves,  and  they  i)rocured 
a  cart  in  the  neiglil»orhood  in  which  he  was  conveyed  to  Achlian. 
The  heel  was  carefully  dealt  with  there  by  all  but  himself.  Mrs. 
Smith,*  then  a  little  girl,  tells  ine  that  her  mother  remonstrated 
often,  but  in  vain  ;  for  he  would  fish,  though  scarcely  able  to  limp ; 

*  Then  Miss  Camiibell,  daughter  of  >L-.  Campbell,  of  Achlian. 


THE    HIGHLANDS.  14-1 

and  one  clay,  as  he  was  fisliing  from  tlie  sliore,  a  large  trout,  such 
as  Loch  Awe  is  remarkable  for,  was  hooked  by  him.  His  line  was 
weak,  and  afraid  to  lose  it,  he  cast  himself  into  the  loch,  yielding  to 
the  motions  of  the  strong  creature  until  it  became  fatigued  rnd 
oianageable.  Then  he  swam  ashore  with  his  victim  in  subjection, 
and  brought  it  home;  but  he  was  without  the  bandage,  and  his 
heel  bleeding  copiously." 

This  was  no  unusual  mode  of  fishing  with  my  father.  As  the 
Shepherd  remarked  :  "  In  he  used  to  gang,  out,  out,  out,  and  ever 
sae  far  out,  frae  the  point  o'  a  promontory,  sinking  aye  further  and 
further  doon,  first  to  the  waist-band  o'  his  breeks,  then  up  to  the 
middle  button  o'  his  waistcoat,  then  to  the  verra  breist,  tlien  to  the 
oxters,  then  to  the  neck,  and  then  to  the  verra  chin  o'  him,  sae  that 
you  wunnered  how  he  could  fling  the  flee ;  till  last  o'  a'  he  would 
jilump  richt  oot  o'  sight,  till  the  Highlander  on  Ben  Ci-uachan 
thocht  him  drooned.  No  he,  indeed  ;  sae  he  takes  to  the  sooming, 
and  strikes  awa  wi'  ae  arm,  i'or  the  tither  had  hand  o'  the  rod  ;  and 
could  ye  believe't,  though  it's  as  true  as  Scripture,  fishing  a'  the 
Lime,  that  no  a  moment  o'  the  cloudy  day  micht  be  lost ;  ettles*  at 
an  island  a  quarter  o'  a  mile  atf,  wi'  trees,  and  an  auld  ruin  o'  a  reli- 
gious house,  wherein  beads  used  to  be  counted,  and  wafers  eaten, 
and  mass  muttered  hundreds  o'  years  ago  ;  and  getting  footing  on 
the  yallow  sand  or  the  green  sward,  he  but  gies  himself  a  shake, 
and  ere  the  sun  looks  out  o'  the  elud,  has  hyucket  a  four-pounder, 
whom  in  four  minutes  (for  it's  a  multiplying  pirn  the  cretur  uses) 
he  lands,  gasping  through  the  giant  gills,  and  glittering  wi'  a  thou- 
sand spots,  streaks,  and  stars,  on  the  shore."f 

With  him  the  angler's  silent  trade  was  a  ruling  passion.  He  did 
not  exaggerate  to  the  Shepherd  in  the  JVoctcs  when  he  said  that  he 
had  taken  "  a  hundred  and  thirty  in  one  day  out  of  Loch  Awe,"  as 
we  see  by  his  letters  that  even  larger  numbers  were  taken  by  him. 

After  the  Ia])se  of  a  week  he  again  writes  :^ 

"Deakkst  Jane  : — Tlie  Devil  is  a  letter-sorter  at  the  Ediidnnijh 
Post-Oftice,  so  your  Glenorcliy  letter  of  Thursday  has  not  been  sent 
to  the  i)lace  of  his  birth.  The  Inverary  one  I  got  on  Saturday, 
which  told  me  of  your  welfare,  and  the  brats,  which  is  enougli. 
Where  the  other  is  gone  is  known  only  to  the  old  gentleman,  who 
will  assuredly  be  haiigfd  one  day  or  other. 

*  I>irc'cts  hiscoiMsc.  t  Kocte». 


142  MEMOIR   OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

"I  promised  not  to  write  anymore;  but  thinking  you  will  not 
be  angry  with  me,  I  have  ventured  to  scribble  a  few  lines  more. 

"]My  heel  is  in  statu  quo  (two  Latin  words  which  Uobert  will 
exjjlain  to  you). 

"I  tried  a  day's  fishing  in  Loch  Awe,  and  killed  a  dozen  fine 
ones.  Yesterday  I  rode  Achliau's  cliarger  to  Craig.  All  here  are 
well,  and  desire  their  love  to  you.  Miss  Campbell  has  been  jioorly, 
but  mends  apace.  I  have  received  most  hospitable  welcome.  1 
slept  last  night  in  our  old  room.  To-day  I  limped  up  to  Molloy 
with  my  lishing-rod.  Mrs.  M'Kay  there  has  just  been  brought  to 
bed  of  a  son,  who  is  doing  well.  They  inquired  most  kindly  for 
you,  and  were  delighted  to  see  me.  What  a  fishing!  In  one  pool 
I  killed  twenty-one  trouts,  all  of  them  about  two  pounds  each,  and 
have  just  arrived  in  time  for  dinner  at  Craig,  loaded  so  that  I  could 
hardly  walk.  I  have  dispatched  presents  to  all  around.  JNIiss 
M'Intyre,  with  whom  we  dined,  desii  i.'S  her  love.  Dr.  M'Lityre  is 
from  home.  I  shall  stay  here  all  night,  being  tired.  On  Wednes- 
day, I  leave  Achlian  on  horseback,  so  depend  on  seeing  me  on  Sat- 
urday. That  is  our  marriage-day.  \n  you  and  in  my  children  lies 
all  my  bliss  on  earth.  Every  field  here  speaks  of  thee.  Thine  for- 
ever, "J.  Wilson." 

The  next  letter  is  two  months  later,  the  Court  of  Session  having 
sat  in  the  interval.  Very  probably,  however,  he  was  not  particular 
in  waiting  till  the  last  day  of  the  summer  sittings  to  start  once  more 
for  his  favorite  Achlian  and  Loch  Awe.  I  suspect  the  idea  of 
eighteen  dozen  of  trout  out  of  the  Aray  would  have  influenced  him 
more  in  these  fine  days  than  the  mere  chance  of  another  brief  before 
"  the  Lords"  dispersed. 

"  Achlian,  il/b«c?ay,  22d  July,  181 G. 

"Dka  REST  Jennet: — Your  letter  of  Thursday  I  received  here  on 
Saturday,  and  as  Sir  Richard  Strahan  said  when  he  fell  in  with  the 
French  fleet,  'We  were  delighted.' 

"The  day  after  I  wrote  last,  namely,  JMonday,  I  walked  up  to  the 
wooden  bridge  and  fished  there,  killing  fifteen  <lozen.  Unluckily 
the  finnily  from  home.  On  Tuesday  I  dined  with  Caj>tain  Archi- 
bald Campbell  and  his  fair  daughters  at  their  cottage.  We  \  isited 
on  Loch  Fyne  side,  and  met  a  pleasantish,  smallish  parly.  On 
Wednesday  I  left  Inverary  at  a  quarter  before  four  in  the  morning. 


THE    HIGHLANDS.  143 

with  young  James  M'Xicol,  brother  to  Miss  M'Nicol,  and  fished 
some  moor  farms  about  eight  miles  off;  sport  but  moderate ; 
fatigue  great ;  slept  like  a  top.  Ou  Thursday  I  dined  with  Mr. 
M'Gibbon,  tlie  clergy  nian,  who  lives  in  thatiiice  pliice  beyond  ihe 
wooden  bridge.  Passed  a  most  social  evening,  and  stayed  all  night. 
On  Fiiday  I  went  to  another  class  of  moor  farms,  about  eight  miles 
from  the  wooden  bridge,  along  Avith  young  Mr.  Bell ;  had  vei-y  bad 
sport  indeed ;  separated  from  him  by  chance,  and  after  wandering 
among  the  hills  for  hours,  got  to  the  wooden  bridge  about  ten  at 
night.  Found  Miss  Giles  Bell  and  her  sister  returned  ;  got  sujjper, 
and  in  several  hours  their  brother  arrived  in  despair,  thinking  I  was 
drowned.  On  Saturday  morning  returned  to  Inverary  and  packed 
up.  Found  a  gig  going  to  Dalmally  which  carried  me  snugly  to 
Achlian,  where  I  found  all  the  worthy  inhabitants  well.  On  Sun- 
day, crossed  the  Loch  to  Ilayfield,  and  dined  with  Mr.  M'Neill,  of 
that  place.*     In  the  evening  a  most  terrific  thunder-storm. 

"To-day  fished  in  Loch  Awe;  bad  day;  killed  only  one  dozen, 
and  returned  to  dinner;  hitherto  my  sport  has  been  but  poorish.  I 
feel  unaccountably  lazy,  and  doubt  if  I  shall  go  to  Rannoch  at  all. 

"  I  am  quite  well,  but  more  fatigued  than  you  can  imagine,  so  my 
letter  is  but  shortish. 

"  Immediately  on  getting  this,  write  me  to  Achlian,  by  Inverary, 
and  send  Barton's  letter.  Let  thine  be  put  into  the  Post-office  be- 
fore seven  o'clock  in  the  evening.  You  will  please  me  by  not  going 
on  board  the  '  Ramillies'  till  I  return.  But  I  do  not  countermand 
you,  uor  will  I  be  the  least  angry  if  you  do  go.  Bless  the  small 
creatures.     Everlastingly  yours,  J.  Wilson." 

"Achlian-,  Aujiisi2,  1816. 
*'My  dearest  Jane  : — Since  I  last  wrote  you  I  have  been  where 
there  are  no  posts  or  post-offices,  and  till  to-day  have  had  no  oppor- 
tunity of  sending  you  a  letter.  I  suppose  you  are  incensed,  and  so 
am  I.  Your  letters  have  reached  me  safely,  but  not  Barton's,  which 
1  have  never  seen.  Therefore  hope  you  have  forgotten  to  send  it 
to  the  post;  if  you  have,  keep  it  till  I  see  thee.  I  have  been  over 
the  moor  of  Rannocli,  in  Glencoe,  and  other  glens  near  it;  at  the 
foot  of  Loch  Ericlit,  and  the  country  round  Loch  Treig ;  I  have 

*  "My  poor  donr  old  friend  M'NcilL,  of  lluy field.    God  rest  his  soul!     It  is  in  bt^ven.     At 
uinety  re  wus  a»  lifeful  as  a  boy  at  iiiiieticu."     .Voctoe. 


144  mi:moik  of  john  wilson. 

Beeii  gieat  scenery,  undergone  hardsliips,  and  am  in  good  health. 
I  revarued  to  Achlian  a  few  days  ago,  but  the  post  was  one  day 
missed,  and  I  sent  this  by  a  private  hand  to  Dahnally,  and  thence  to 
Edinburgh.  I  have  had  much  good  fishing,  much  bad,  and  much 
tolerable — picture  of  human  life.  Keep  all  letters  till  I  see  thee. 
But  immediately  on  getting  this  write  to  me,  care  of  Robert  Find- 
lay,  Esq.,  Miller  Street,  Glasgow.  I  shall  be  there  ere  long,  day  I 
cannot  tix,  because  conveyances  are  doubtful,  but  you  will  be  look- 
ing upon  me  with  a  pleasant  countenance  somewhere  about  the  7th 
or  8th  of  this  month.  Recollect  I  left  you  on  the  11th,  so  it  is  not 
so  long  siuce  I  went  away  as  you  said  in  your  letter. 

"  I  suppose  Cadell  wished,  to  see  me  about  the  Edinburgh  He- 
view.  This  is  conjecture.  What  he  calls  agreeable  to  me  may  turn 
out  to  be  supercilious  ^Ji'iiise,  saying  I  am  not  a  good  boy.  Fare- 
well. "  J.  Wilson." 

From  Achlian  he  now  worked  his  way  across  to  Blair  Athole, 
whence  he  writes  to  tell  how  he  fares.  He  is  "lame  in  the  knee," 
and  has  "  not  been  in  bed,"  but  he  is  just  starting,  at  6.30  a.  m.,  as 
if  under  vow  or  penance,  on  a  journey  of  thirty-four  miles! 

"  Dearest  Jane  : — It  is  half-past  six  morning,  and  I  am  just  set- 
ting off  to  Braemar,  anxious  for  your  letter.  I  will  write  you  at 
length  first  moment  I  have  an  opportunity,  which  will  be  in  two  or 
three  days ;  meanwhile  I  am  well,  though  lame  in  my  knee. 

"  Obey  all  your  directions,  but,  in  addition  to  them,  write  on 
Friday  (this  day  week)  to  me,  care  of  Alexander  M'Kenzie,  Esq  , 
Millbank,  Dingwall.  I  hav#  not  been  in  bed,  and  am  just  setting 
off  thirty-four  miles.  God  bless  and  preserve  thee  and  ours  ever- 
lastingly !  "  J.  Wilson. 

"Bridge  op  Tilt,  Blair  Athole, 
Friday,  August,  1816." 

So  northward  he  goes  with  his  lame  knee,  as  one  burdened  with 
some  great  exploring  quest,  which  must  be  fulfilled  at  all  hazards, 
and  through  all  fatigues.  Through  the  loneliest  glens,  up  the  high- 
est mountain-tops,  careless  of  weather,  and  finding  "adventures" 
in  the  least  likely  places,  he  holds  on  to  the  north,  and  again  to  the 
west,  till  we  light  on  him,  after  twenty-five  miles'  walk,  sitting 
down  to  address  his  wife  from  the  hospitable  abode  of  his  friend 
Mr.  M'KeiJzie : — 


TUK    IIIGIILAKDS.  145 

"  MiLLBAXK,  Dingwall, 
Wednesday,  I'ith  Awjust. 

*  My  dearest  Jane  : — I  wrote  you  last  from  Abergeldy,  and  I 
tt.4»  afraid  you  may  Lave  been  lunging  for  a  letter  before  this  reaches 
you.  Such,  I  ho|)e,  is  not  my  vanity,  but  mutual  kind  love ;  may 
it  be  our  only  blessing  here  and  hereafter,  and  I  am  satisfied. 

"From  Abergeldy  I  started  (I  think  the  day  after  I  wrote  you) 
and  proceeded  to  the  head  of  the  Don  river.  My  burden  was 
truly  insupportable.  The  same  evening  I  got  to  Inchrory  on  the 
river  Aven  or  Avon,  a  most  lovely  place,  perhaps  the  most  so  in 
Scotland,  where  I  slept.  Next  day  (Thursday)  I  got  to  Tomin- 
toul,*  where  I  slept,  a  wild  and  moorland  village.  Next  day  was 
the  annual  market,  and  it  rained  incessantly.  My  adventures  there 
I  will  give  you  afterwards,  and  they  were  not  to  my  discredit.  Od 
Saturday  morning  (still  most  rainy)  I  proceeded  to  Grantown,  four- 
teen miles,  where  I  arrived  at  night,  and  slept  comfortably ;  the 
country  most  wild  and  desolate.  About  five  miles  from  this  live 
the  Miss  Grants,  of  LifForchy.  Thither  on  Sunday  morning  I  re- 
paired, and  found  them  all  at  home  and  well,  with  a  brother  lately 
arrived  from  the  East  Indies.  On  Monday  morning  at  tliree 
o'clock,  he  and  I  started  to  the  top  of  Cairngorm,  one  of  the  high- 
est mountains  in  Scotland,  and  returned  at  eight  o'clock  in  the 
evening ;  I  tired,  and  he  sick  even  unto  death.  On  Tuesday  morn- 
ing, I  left  the  house  and  walked  on  towards  Inverness,  to  a  })lace 
called  Craga,  distance  twenty-seven  miles.  It  rained  incessantly, 
and  I  had  both  toothache  and  earache.  On  Wednesday  morning  I 
started  from  Craga,  and  this  same  Wednesday  reached  Millbank, 
Mr.  INFKenzie's  house,  from  which  I  now  write  after  a  walk  of 
twenty-five  miles.  So  much  then  for  a  general  sketch,  which  I  will 
fill  up  when  I  am  once  more  with  you. 

"I  find  from  your  letter  that  our  sweet  ones  are  all  uai^-oll,  and 
likely  to  be  so.  That  last  letter  was  dated  Friday,  Auo»t  8th.  1 
am  miserable  about  them.  To-morrow,  that  is,  Thurs«jy,  August 
14th,  and  that  one  day,  I  must  rest  here,  for  the  fatigue  I  liave 
lately  undergone  has  been  beyond  any  thing  I  ever  expari.Miced. 
On  Friday,  the  15th,  I  shall  start  again,  and  hope  to  be  at  Achlian, 

*  Of  thts  place  he  says  in  the  Xoatex : — "  Di-inking,  dancing,  swearing,  and  quarrtflllng  goiuf 
on  nil  the  time  in  Toiiiintoiil.  James,  for  a  fair  there  is  a  wild  rendezvous,  as  wo  both  know,  sum 
mcr  and  winter;  and  i.'iiili.'i-  tlnck  tl-.:'  wildest  siiirits  of  the  wildest  clans." 


146  jiIEM(.)IR    OF   JOHN    WII.SOX. 

Dugald  Campbell's,  by  In ve vary,  in  a  week  from  that  time.  So 
immediately  on  receiving  this,  whicii  I  think  will  be  on  Saturday, 
16th,  write  to  me  to  that  direction.  Say  you  write  on  the  day  after 
you  receive  mine,  whatever  that  day  may  be,  and  I  will  immediately 
write  you  on  my  arrival  there ;  I  will  lose  no  tiifie  in  getting  there, 
and  I  think  in  about  a  fortnight  I  shall  see  you.  I  trust  in  God  the 
accounts  will  be  good  when  I  reach  Achlian.  But  to  that  point  I 
will  go  as  soon  as  I  can.  I  have  undergone  great  fiitigue,  and 
much  bad  weather,  and  long  for  your  kind  bosom,  so  help  me  God ! 
Inverary  is  nearly  150  miles  from  this,  and  no  carriages,  so  I  must 
walk  all  the  way.  Once  more,  I  |)ray  to  God  to  take  care  of  our 
beloved  children,  and  to  make  them  well  to  us.  To  take  a  chance 
of  hearing  from  you,  write  one  line  to  Post-Office,  Fort-William, 
the  moment  you  receive  this,  telling  me  about  the  children.  But 
write  as  above  mentioned  to  Achlian,  as  I  may  be  at  Fort-William 
before  your  letter  reaches.  In  short,  I  will  go  to  Achlian  as  soon 
as  possible,  and  from  your  letter  there  will  judge  if  I  ara  instantly 
to  return  home.  Xo  delay  will  take  place.  I  am  most  anxious 
about  the  children.  God  bless  you !  and  may  the  Almighty  recover 
to  us  all  our  sweet  ones  I  The  chicken-pox  is  not  a  bad  complaint, 
so  we  need  not  fear;  poor  Johnny  fainting  !  But  they  are  all  dear. 
So  farewell,  yours  tenderly,  John  Wilson." 

The  adventures  of  which  he  says  "  they  were  not  to  my  discred- 
it," were  doubtless  made  known  to  Mrs.  Wilson,  but  never  came 
to  the  ears  of  the  younger  generation,  being  considered  either  too 
trivial,  or  after  many  years  forgotten.  They  were  not  forgotten, 
however,  in  the  Xorth,  for  in  a  recent  letter  from  Mr.  Alexander 
M'Kenzie,  Dingwall,  this  very  adventure  is  thus  narrated  : — 

" I  am  the  person  specially  honored  by  that  visit.  Mr,  Wilson 
came  to  me  (then  living  at  !Millbank  near  Dingwall)  in  such  peculiar 
circumstances  as  leads  me  to  think  he  would  have  made  s<ime 
memoranda  about  it.  He  had  been  fishing  in  the  Dee,  and  by 
accident  came  to  a  fair  at  Tomintoul,  where  he  saw  a  poor  mnn 
much  oppressed  and  ill-used  by  another,  who  was  considered  the 
bully  of  the  country,  and  whose  name,  I  think,  he  said  was  Grant. 
Circumstances  led  to  Mr.  Wilson  putthig  off  his  coat  and  giving 
this  fellow  a  thrashing,  but  on  picking  up  the  coat  he  found  it  rifled 
of  his  pocket-book,  ontaining  all  his  money  but   a  very  few  shil 


THE    niGIILANDs.  147 

lings !  In  this  state  he  left  for  Carrbridge,  where  he  pn^sed  the 
night  without  more  than  enough  of  refreshment.  In  the  morning 
he  left  for  Inverness,  and  calling  at  the  Post-Office  he  found  many 
letters  to  his  address;  but  not  having  money  to  pay  the  postage, 
the  person  in  charge  declined  trusting  him!  He  then  crossed  Kes- 
sock  Ferry  with  only  a  few  pence,  and  arrived  at  Dingwall  about 
midday,  where  I  happened  to  be  at  the  time,  and  was  quite  over- 
joyed at  seeing  him.  He  was  dressed  in  white  duck  trousers 
covered  with  mud,  and  his  white  hat  entirely  so  with  fishing  gear ! 

"  As  he  proceeded  to  my  house,  distant  about  a  mile,  he  shortly 
detailed  his  late  adventure,  and  said  he  was  almost  famished.  My  first 
work  was  to  send  to  Inverness  for  his  letters,  after  which  we  enjoyed 
one  of  the  most  delightful  evenings  of  my  life.  He  kindly  rested 
himself  for  several  days,  and  I  accompanied  him  through  the  most 
romantic  and  impassable  parts  of  the  country  to  Kintail,  where  I 
parted  with  him  at  the  house  of  a  worthy  mutual  friend,  George 
Laidlaw^ 

"  In  our  rambles,  which  included  some  curious  incidents,  and 
which  occupied  several  days,  he  fished  wherever  a  loch  or  stream 
presented  itself.  We  avoided  all  roads  entirely,  and  lived  with  the 
shepherds." 

Such  stories  as  these  might,  to  a  certain  extent,  justify  that 
excellent  old  lady,  Mrs.  Grant  of  Laggan,  in  making  the  f  )llowing 
observations,  when,  in  writing  to  a  friend,  she  burst  forth  upon  the 
eccentricities  of  the  young  poet: — 

"  Did  I  ever  tell  you  of  one  of  the  said  poets  we  have  in  town 
here — indeed,  one  of  our  intimates — the  most  provoking  creature 
imaginable !  He  is  young,  handsome,  witty ;  has  great  learnino-^ 
exuberant  spirits,  a  wife  and  children  that  he  doats  on  (circum- 
stances one  would  think  consolidating),  and  no  vice  that  I  know  of, 
but,  on  the  contrary,  virtuous  principles  and  feelings.  Yet  his 
wonderful  eccentricity  would  put  anybody  but  his  wife  wild.  She, 
I  am  convinced,  was  actually  made  on  purpose  for  her  husband,  and 
has  that  kind  of  indescribable  controlling  influence  over  him  tliat 
Catherine  is  said  to  have  had  over  that  wonderful  savage  the  Czar 
Peter. 

"Pray  look  at  the  \ast  Bdinburffh Heview,  and  read  the  favorable 
article  on  John  Wilson's  '  City  of  the  Plague.'  He  is  the  person 
in  question." 


lis  MEMOIR    OF   JOHN   WILSOX. 

In  the  raontli  of  September  he  again  visited  EllePaV,  accompanied 
by  tlie  eldest  of  iiis  little  girls.     On  his  way  he  wrote  to  his  wife : — 

"  Pexhith,  Friday,  September  20tfi, 

Evenirig,  Nine  o'clock,  1816. 

"Dearest  Jaxe: — TVe  got  safely  to  Hawick  about  ten  o'clock; 
found  a  comfortable  room  and  fire;  supped,  and  went  to  bed. 
Maggy  and  Mary  Tophara*  drank  tea  at  the  fireside  in  the  same 
room  with  us,  and  were  in  bed  by  eleven.  Maggy  stood  her  journey 
well ;  made  observations  on  the  moon,  and  frightened  me  with  the 
beast  several  times,  We  left  Hawick  in  a  chaise  at  ten  next  morn- 
ing, and  proceeded  to  Knox's,  where  we  dined.  We  left  that  by 
eight  o'clock,  and  reached  Longtown  by  eleven. 

"  I  supped  the  ladies  and  bedded  them  in  half  an  hour.  We  left 
Longtown  after  breakfast,  at  ten  o'clock;  came  through  Carlisle, 
and  dined  at  five  o'clock.  Maggy  drank  tea  at  seven,  and  immo 
diately  after  retired  to  bed  with  Mary  Topham,  and  I  believe  they 
are  both  sound  asleep  at  this  moment. 

"  To-morrow  morning  at  six  o'clock  we  leave  this  for  Patterdale, 
and  I  think  most  probably  will  remain  all  night  at  Bowness.  On 
Sunday  will  reach  Hollow  Oak  to  dinner.  Xothing  can  excel 
Maggy's  behavior — she  is  perfect ;  all  eyes  that  looked  on  her  loved 
her,  and  Miss  Knox,  I  understand  from  Mary  Topham,  cut  ofii"  a 
lock  of  her  hair  to  keep.     3Ierit  is  sure  of  being  discovered  at  last. 

"  She  has  sat  on  my  knee  almost  the  whole  way,  and  I  feel  I  love 
her  better  than  ever  I  did  before.  She  will  be  an  angelic  being 
like  her  gentle  mother.  I  will  write  from  Hollow  Oak  on  Monday, 
so  you  will  hear  on  Tuesday  or  Wednesday.  Write  Ui  me  on 
Tuesday,  care  of  Mrs.  Ullock,  Bowness. 

"  Give  me  all  family  and  other  news.     Love  Johnny  for  my  sake, 
and  teach  him  some  prayers  and  hymns  before  I  return. 
"  Thy  afiectionate  husband, 

"John-  Wilsox." 

In  another  letter  a  few  days  later,  dated  from  Elleray,  he  gives 
rapid  notes  of  his  doings  ;  how  he  attended  a  ball  which  was  "  most 
dull,  though  it  gave  universal  satisfaction;"  how  next  day  he  "lay  in 
bed  all  day,"  and  the  next  "  crowed  all  day  like  a  cock  at  Elleray,  to 

♦  Nursery- maid. 


ELLEIJAV.  149 

Kobortson's*  infinite  delight ;"  "  tlie  next  day  Do  Quincey  and  Wil- 
liam Garnet  dined  with  me  here,  Billy  and  Mrs.  Balmer  officiating." 
He  adds,  "Party  here  very  agreeable,"  which  one  can  well  believe. 
"To-morrow,"  he  goes  on,  "  Garnet,  Robertson,  and  self  take  coach 
to  Keswick,  and  thence  proceed  to  Buttermere  and  Ennerdale.     I 

•  His  friend  Patrick,  afterwards  Lord  Robertson,  one  of  the  most  witty  and  warin-lii\arted  of 
men.  lie  was  born  in  1793;  called  to  the  Scotch  bar  in  1815;  elected  Dean  of  Faculty  in  18-12; 
raised  to  the  beuch  in  1843;  died  in  1S55.  Lockhart  wrote  many  a  rhyming  epitaj)!!  upon  him, 
one  of  which  is  r^uoted  elsewhere.  On  another  occasion,  he  is  reported  to  have  written,  "Peter 
Eoberlsoii  is  'a  man'"  to  use  his  own  favorite  quotation,  "cast  in  Nature's  amplest  mould.  He  is 
Bfi'^itted  to  be  the  greatest  corporation  lawyer  at  the  Scotch  bar ;  and  he  is  a  vast  pott  as  well  oh 
a  ^eat  lawyer.    Silence,  gentlemen,  for  a  song  by  Peter  Robertson : — 

"  Come  listen  all  good  gentlemen  of  every  degree; 
Come  listen  all  ye  lady-birds,  come  listen  unto  me; 
Come  listen  all  you  laughinji  ones,  come  listen  all  ye  grave ; 
Come  listen  all  and  every  one,  while  I  do  sing  a  stave. 

"  One  morning,  I  remember  me,  as  I  did  lay  in  bed, 
I  felt  a  strange  sensation  come  a  throbbing  tlirough  my  head; 
And  I  thought  unto  myself,  thinks  I,  Where  was  it  I  did  dineT 
With  whom  ?    Oh,  I  recall  the  name, — 'twas  Baron  Brandywine. 

*'  Let  me  see :  Oh,  after  turtle  we  h.ad  punch,  the  spirits'  rain, 
And,  if  Pm  not  mistaken,  we  had  iced  hock  and  champagne. 
And  sundry  little  sundries,  all  which  go  to  make  one  merry, 
An  iutervening  toss,  or  so,  of  some  superb  old  sherry. 

"  Well,  then,  to  be  dramatic,  wo  must  needs  imbibe  a  dram 
(A  very  sorry  sort  of  [)un — the  peri)etrator  Sam) ; 
And  then  to  port  and  claret  with  great  industry  wo  fell. 
Which,  sooth  to  say,  appeared  to  suit  our  party  pretty  well. 

'•  Then  biscuits  all  bedevilled  we  designedly  did  munch. 
To  gain  a  proper  relish  for  that  glorious  bowl  of  punch. 
But  after  that  I  cannot  say  that  I  remember  much, 
Except  a  hiccup-argument  'bout  Belgium  and  the  Dutch. 

"  Such  were  my  recollections,  and  such  I  sing  to  you. 
Good  gentlemen  and  lady-birds — upon  my  soul  it's  true; 
And  if  you  wish  to  bear  away  the  moral  of  my  song, 
It's  this — for  all  your  headaches  let  the  reasons  still  be  strong.^'' 

I  think  I  J&iict  Mr.  Lockhart's  hand  in  the  following  good  wishes: — 

"  Oh,  Petrus,  Pedro,  Peter,  which  you  will, 
Lonu',  long  ihy  radiant  destiny  fulfil. 
Bright  be  thy  wit,  and  bright  the  golden  ore, 
Paid  down  in  fees  for  thy  deep  legal  lore. 
Bright  be  thy  claret,  brisk  be  thy  champagne, 
Thy  whiskey-punch  a  vast,  exhauslless  main. 
With  thee  disporting  on  its  Joyous  slKu-e, 
or  that  glad  spirit  quailing  ever  more. 
Keen  be  thy  stomach,  potent  thy  digestion. 
And  long  thy  lectures  on  'the  general  question,' 
While  young  and  old  swell  out  the  general  strain. 
We  ne'er  shall  look  upon  his  like  again." 


150  MEMOIR    OF   JOHN   WILSON. 

Avill  write  tliee  on  Saturday,  fixing  my  day  of  return.  I  go  to 
Ulverstone  to  see  Maggy,  etc.  Don't  hire  a  servant  without  seeing 
and  approving  her — mind  that.  Write  me  on  Saturday  as  before. 
Put  Elleray  on  the  letter,  else  a  surgeon  at  Bowness  will  read  it. 
Love  to  Ung*  and  others. 

"  Eternally  yours, 

"  J.  W." 

From  the  excursion  with  Garnet  and  Robertson  he  is  hurried  back 
to  Elleray  on  business,  and  writes  in  haste : — 

"Elleray,  Sept.  2Sth,  1816. 
"  My  deakest  "Wife  : — I  have  not  half  a  minute  to  spare. 
Immediately  on  receiving  this,  send  me  the  inventory  of  every  thing 
at  Elleray.  If  it  is  too  large  to  go  by  post,  copy  it  over  in  one 
long  sheet,  and  send  it  oiF  on  Thursday.  If  it  can  go  by  post, 
write  on  Tuesday — same  day  you  receive  this.  On  receiving  your 
letter  to-morrow,  I  will  write  you  at  length,  and  tell  you  when  I 
come  home,  which  will  be  immediately.  It  was  impossible  to  leave 
this  hitherto,  for  reasons  I  will  explain.  You  will  have  heard  of 
Maggy  since  I  saw  her.  I  will  see  her  on  Wednesday,  and  tell  you 
all  about  her.  Whatever  my  anxieties  and  sorrows  are  or  may  be 
in  this  life,  I  have  in  your  affection  a  happiness  paramount  to  all  on 
earth,  and  I  think  that  I  am  happier  in  the  frowns  of  fortune,  with 
that  angelic  nature,  than  perhaps  even  if  we  had  been  living  in 
affluence.  God  forever  bless  you,  and  my  sweet  family,  is  the 
prayer  of  your  loving  and  affectionate  husband, 

"J.  Wilson." 

There  are  no  more  letters  or  memorials  of  that  year.     The  next 
brings  us  into  a  new  field,  which  calls  for  a  chapter  to  itself. 

*  A  playful  soubriquet  for  his  oldest  son. 


Patrick  llobertson,  Esq. — From  a  sketch  by  the  hilc  I'rot'cssor  Edward  Forbes. 


LITER.ATUKE. — BLACKWOOl/s    MAGAZINE.  153 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

LITEKATUEE.  BLACK  "WOOd's      MAGAZINE. 

1817-1820. 

With  the  year  1817  we  enter  on  a  new  epoch  in  Wilson's  life. 
Hitherto  his  literary  exertions  had  been  confined  almost  exclu- 
sively to  poetry ;  and  the  reception  of  his  works,  however  favorable, 
had  not  been  such  as  to  satisfy  him  that  that  was  the  department  in 
which  he  was  destined  to  assert  his  superiority,  or  to  find  full  scope 
for  his  varied  powers.  Much  as  has  been  said  as  to  th^  mode  in 
which  these  were  exercised,  and  the  comparative  inadequacy  of  the 
results,  I  cannot  but  think  that  there  is  misconception  on  the  subject. 
I  dismiss  the  question  what  he  or  any  other  man  of  great  powers 
ought  to  have  done :  I  look  simply  at  what  he  did  do,  which  alone 
concerns  us,  now  that  his  work  is  finished.  Whether  he  might  or 
should  have  written  certain  works  on  certain  subjects,  for  the  use  or 
pleasure  of  his  own  generation  and  of  posterity,  seems  to  me  an  idle 
question.  Enough  for  his  vindication,  that  in  a  long  and  laborious 
literary  life  he  wielded  a  wholesome  and  powerful  influence  in  the 
Avorld  of  letters;  and  enough  for  his  fame,  that  amid  the  haste  and 
exigencies  of  incessant  periodical  composition,  he  wrote  sijch  things 
as  no  other  man  but  himself  could  have  written,  and  which  will  be 
read  and  delighted  in  as  long  as  the  hiohest  kind  of  criticism  and  of 
prose-poetry  are  valued  among  men.  Periodical  literature,  it  seems 
to  me,  was  ])recisely  the  thing  for  which  he  was  suited  by  tempera- 
ment, versatility,  and  power ;  and  unless  it  be  broadly  asserted,  that 
the  service  done  to  letters  and  civilizijtion  through  the  medium  of  a 
great  literary  organ  is  unimportant,  and  unworthy  of  the  efforts  of 
a  man  of  genius,  I  do  not  see  how  it  can  be  maintained  that  Profes- 
sor Wilson  neglected  or  threw  away  his  gifts  when  he  devoted  them 
to  the  establishment  and  maintenance  of  the  influence  of  Blick- 
xcood's  Magazine. 

Before,  howevei",  entering  on  the  less  pe:icefid  events  which  follow, 
let  us  have  a  glimpse  of  him  once  more — rod  in  hand,  :uid  kna|)sack 
on  back — away  in  the  heart  of  the  Highlands  towards  the  close  of 
July,  1817.     This  time,  however,  he  was  burdened  with  a  now  load, 


154:  ItEMOIK   OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

for  he  c-irrit-^  btwides  his  wardrobe  and  fishing-basket,  a  parcel  of 
books.  He  hu^l,  in  fact,  come  bound  to  iiroducu  an  "  article"  for  the 
Edinburgh  ^lonthly  Magazine^  and  that  inexorable  familiar  the 
printer's  devil  followed  on  his  heels  even  into  the  wilds  of  Rannoch. 
There  he  finished  for  the  August  number  of  that  magazine  a  review 
of  "'Lalla  Kookh,"  of  which  the  first  part  had  appeared  in  June. 
The  following  letter  is  the  only  memorial  of  this  expedition: — ■ 

"  My  dearest  Jaxe  : — On  Monday  at  four  o'clock  I  got  to  Perth, 
and  during  the  journey  felt  much  for  poor  Robert,  who  must  have 
got  dreadfully  wet.  We  dined  comfortably  there,  and  walked  to 
Dunkeld  in  the  evening  on  foot,  a  very  pleasant  walk  after  the  rain. 
On  Tuesday,  we  took  the  top  of  the  coach  to  Pitlochry,  thirteen 
miles  from  Dunkeld,  and  about  six  from  the  bridge,  where  we  got 
into  the  coach  from  Mrs.  Izett's.  We  thence  walked  by  the  river 
Tumniel  (a  scene  somewhat  like  Borrowdale)  to  an  inn  at  the  head 
of  Loch  Tummel,  where  we  stayed  all  night.  On  Wednesday,  we 
fished  up  to  Kinloch  Rannoch,  and  I  killed  forty  good  trouts.  I  found 
our  worthy  friends  here  in  good  health  and  spirits.  They  have  had 
two  children  since  we  saw  them,  and  they  inquired  very  kindly  for 
you.  On  Thursday,  I  fished  down  to  Mount  Alexander,  but  the 
day  was  cold  and  unfavorable.  Mr.  Stewart,  of  Inverhadden,  dined 
with  us  at  the  inn — a  rare  original.  I  fear  I  did  not  go  to  bod  sober. 
(Friday.) — I  have  breaklasted  with  him,  and  fished ;  good  sport, 
though,  a^s  usual,  I  lost  several  large  ones.  Menzies  and  his  friend 
left  me  to-day  for  Loch  Ericht,  and  I  expect  to  see  no  more  of  them. 
To-morrow  I  ought  to  leave  this,  but  that  confounded  Lalla  Rookh 
is  still  on  my  hands ;  so  I  shall  review  it  to-morrow,  leave  it  here, 
and  be  ofi"  to  Blair  Athole  on  Sunday.  On  Monday,  I  shall  be  at 
Captain  Harden's,  Altnagoich,  Braemar,  and  hope  on  Wednesday 
to  have  good  accounts  of  my  sweet  girl  and  the  fry.  After  that  my 
motions  are  uncertain,  but  on  Sunday  evening  write  to  '  Mr.  Wilson, 
Post-Office,  Inverness,  to  lie  till  called  for,'  and  I  hope  to  be  there 
as  soon  as  the  letter.  That  is  the  second  Sunday  after  my  depar- 
t\ire.  Xo  mistakes  now.  Write  long  and  witty  letters.  The  weather 
has  been  tolerable,  and  I  am  in  good  health.  Give  my  love  to  Ung 
and  the  others,  and  God  in  his  mercy  keep  them  all  well  and  ha]tpy. 
Heaven  bless  you  forever,  and  believe  me  thy  loving  and  gritefi*! 
husband. 

•■KlNUOCII    RAXNOCi!    J.lhj  21,   1S17." 


LITEKATURE. BLACKWOOd's    MAGAZINE.  155 

Here  also  may  come  in  two  pleasant  letters  fiom  Jeffrey,  before 
we  arrive  at  the  point  when  it  became  impossible  for  the  editor  of 
the  Edinburgh  Review  to  exchange  confidential  and  friendly  com- 
munications with  an  acknowledged  contributor  to  Blackicood : — 

"  CuAifiCBOOK,  lOi/i  October,  1817. 

"My" DEAR  Wilson: — Do  you  think  you  could  be  prevailed  on  to 
write  a  review  for  me  now  and  then  ?  Perhaps  this  may  appear  to 
you  a  very  audacious  request,  and  I  am  not  sure  tliat  I  should  have 
had  the  boldness  to  make  it,  but  I  had  heard  it  surmised,  and  in 
very  intelligent  quarters,  that  you  had  occasionally  condescended  to 
exercise  the  functions  of  a  critic  in  works  where  your  exertions  must 
necessarily  obtain  less  celebrity  than  in  our  journal.  When  I  apply 
for  assistance  to  persons  in  whose  talents  and  judgment  I  have  as 
ranch  confidence  as  I  have  in  yours,  I  leave  of  course  the  choice  of 
their  subjects  very  much  to  themselves,  being  satisfied  that  it  must 
always  be  for  my  interest  to  receive  all  they  are  most  desirous  of 
sending.  It  is  therefore  rather  with  a  view  to  tempt  than  to  assist 
you,  that  I  venture  to  suggest  to  you  a  general  review  of  our  dra- 
matic poetry,  a  subject  which  I  long  meditated  for  myself,  but  which 
I  now  feel  that  I  shall  never  have  leisure  to  treat  as  I  should  wish 
to  treat  it,  and  upon  which  indeed  I  could  not  now  enter,  without 
a  pretty  laborious  resumption  of  my  early  and  half-forgotten  studies. 
To  you,  I  am  quite  sure,  it  is  familiar,  and  while  I  am  by  no  means 
certain  that  our  opinions  could  always  coincide,  I  have  no  hesitation 
in  saying,  that  I  should  very  much  distrust  my  own  when  they  were 
in  absolute  opposition  to  yours,  and  that  I  am  unfeignedly  of  opinion 
that  in  your  hands  the  disquisition  will  be  more  edifying  and  (juite 
as  entertaining  as  ever  it  could  have  been  in  mine.  It  is  the  appear- 
ance of  the  weak  and  dull  article  in  the  last  Quarterly^  which  lias 
roused  mc  to  the  resolution  of  procuring  something  more  worthy  of 
the  subject  for  the  Edinburr/h^  and  there  really  is  nobody  but  your- 
self to  whom  I  can  look  with  any  satisfaction  for  such  a  i)apcr. 

"I  do  not  want,  as  you  will  easily  conjecture,  a  learned,  ostenta- 
tious, and  antiquarian  dissertation,  but  an  account  written  with  taste 
and  feeling,  and  garnished,  if  you  please,  with  such  quotations  as 
maj--  be  either  very  curious  or  very  delightful.  I  intended  some- 
thing of  this  sort  when  I  lu'gan  my  review  of  Ford's  plays,  but  I  ran 
off  the  course  almost  at  starting,  and  could  never  get  back  again. 


156  MEMOIR   OF   JOHN    "VXTLSON. 

"Xow,  pray,  do  not  refuse  me  rashly.  I  am  not  without  impa- 
tience for  your  answer,  but  I  would  rather  not  have  it  for  a  day  or 
two,  if  your  first  impression  is  that  it  would  be  unfavorable.  If  you 
are  in  a  complying  mood,  the  sooner  I  hear  it  the  better. 

"Inde])eiident  of  all  this,  will  you  allow  me  again  to  say,  that  I 
am  very  sincerely  desirous  of  being  better  acquainted  with  you,  and 
regret  very  much  that  my  many  avocations  and  irregular'  way  of 
Ufe  have  forced  me  to  see  so  little  of  you.  Could  you  venture  to 
dine  here  without  a  party  any  day  next  week  that  you  choose  to 
name,  except  Saturday  ?  If  you  have  no  engagement,  will  yon  come 
on  Monday  or  Tuesday  ?  Any  other  day  that  may  be  more  conve- 
nient. If  you  take  my  proposal  into  kind  consideration,  we  ni:iy 
talk  a  little  of  the  drama ;  if  not,  we  will  foil  on  something  elso. 
Believe  me  always  very  faithfully  yours,  "F.  Jeffrey. 

"  Send  your  answer  to  George  Street." 

The  fact  that  my  father  agreed  to  contribute  to  an  organ  which 
soon  after  became  the  olyect  of  determined  hostility  in  the  )>eriodical 
to  which  he  chiefly  devoted  his  services,  will  not,  I  imagine,  be  now 
regarded  in  the  same  light  as  it  was  by  the  Edinburgh  Whigs  of 
1817.  The  practice  of  writing  on  diflerent  subjects  in  organs  of 
the  most  hostile  oinnions  is  one  which  is  now  so  universal  among 
men  of  the  highest  character  in  the  world  of  letters,  that  it  nee<ls  no 
vindication  here.  At  the  time,  too,  when  my  father  received  this 
friendly  overture  from  Jeffrey,  the  Magazine  had  not  assumed  that 
position  as  a  representative  of  high  Tory  principles  which  by  and  by 
placed  it  in  direct  antagonism  to  the  Review.  The  subjects  on 
which  he  agreed  to  contribute  were  purely  literary,  and  he  was,  no 
doubt,  very  glad  to  get  the  opportunity  of  expressing  his  views  on 
poetry  in  an  organ  where  that  subject  had  not  been  treated  in  a  style 
which  he  could  consider  satisfactory.  It  would  appear  that  he  had 
oftered  to  review  Coleridge  in  a  friendly  manner,  which,  taken  in 
connection  with  the  fact  that  a  fierce  onslaught  on  that  poet  appeared 
in  the  Xumber  of  Blackicood  at  that  very  time  in  the  ]>ress,  may 
funiish  matter  for  unfavor.able  judgment  to  any  sympathizers  in  the 
ariLrry  feelings  of  tliat  period.  I  have  no  fear,  however,  that  this 
circumstance  will  lead  to  uncharitable  conclusions  in  the  minds  of 
any  whose  opinion  I  value.  I  am  content  to  risk  the  reader's  esti- 
mate of  mv  father's  irenerositv  and  kindliness  of  nature  on  the  real 


LITEKATL'KE. BLACKWOOd's    MAGAZIXE.  157 

facts  of  his  life,  without  keeping  any  thing  in  the  background  that 
throws  Hght  ui)on  them.  The  following  is  Jeffrey's  reply  to  his 
communication,  which  I  regret  has  not  come  into  my  hands  : — 

"Craiocrook,  nth  October,  1817. 
"  My  dear  Wilson  : — I  give  you  up  Byron  freely,  and  thank- 
fully accept  of  your  conditional  promise  about  the  drama;  for  Cole- 
ridge, I  should  like  first  to  have  a  little  talk  with  you.  I  had  in- 
tended to  review  him  fairly,  and,  if  i)0ssible,  favorably,  myself,  at 
all  events  mercifully ;  but,  on  looking  into  the  volume,  I  can  discern 
so  little  new,  and  so  much  less  good  than  I  had  expected,  that  I 
hesitate  about  noticing  him  at  all.  I  cannot  help  fearing,  too,  that 
the  discrepancy  of  our  opinions  as  to  that  style  of  poetry  may  be 
too  glaring  to  render  it  prudent  to  venture  upon  it,  at  least  under 
existing  circumstances;  and  besides,  if  I  must  unmask  all  my  weak-' 
ness  to  you,  I  am  a  little  desirous  of  having  the  credit,  though  it 
should  only  be  an  inward  one,  of  doing  a  handsome  or  even  kind 
thing  to  a  man  who  has  spoken  ill  of  me,  and  am  unwilling  that  a 
favorable  review  of  this  author  should  appear  in  the  Review  from 
any  other  hand  than  my  own.  But  we  shall  talk  of  this  after  I  have 
considered  the  capabilities  of  the  work  a  little  further. 

"  I  am  very  much  gratified  by  the  kind  things  you  are  pleased  to 
say  of  me,  though  the  flattering  ones  with  which  you  have  mixed 
them  rather  disturb  me.  When  you  know  me  a  little  better,  you 
will  find  me  a  very  ordinary  fellow,  and  really  not  half  so  vain  as 
to  takd  your  testimony  in  behalf  of  my  qualifications.  I  have,  I 
suppose,  a  little  more  practice  and  expertness  in  some  things  than 
you  can  yet  have,  but  I  am  very  much  mistaken  if  you  have  not 
more  talent  of  every  kind  than  I  have.  What  I  think  of  your  char- 
acter you  may  infer  from  the  offer  I  have  made  you  of  my  friend- 
ship, and  which  I  rather  think  I  never  made  to  any  other  m:m. 

"  I  think  you  have  a  kind  heart  and  a  manly  spirit,  and  feel  per- 
fectly assured  that  you  will  always  act  with  frankness,  gentleness, 
and  firmness.  I  ask  pardon  for  sending  you  this  certificate,  but  I 
do  not  know  how  else  to  express  so  clearly  the  grounds  of  my  re- 
gard and  esteem. 

"Believe  me  always,  very  faithfully  yours, 

"F.  Jeffrey. 
"I  hope  to  see  you  on  your  return  from  Glasgow." 


15S  MKMOIR    OF    JOHN    WILCON. 

Of  the  subjects  spoken  of  or  coutemplated,  the  only  one  which 
he  took  up  was  Byron,  the  review  of  whom  did  not  make  its  ap- 
pearance till  August  of  the  following  year.  That  was  my  father's 
first  and  last  contribution  to  the  £Jd/nbur[/h  Hevieic.  Another  frag- 
ment of  a  letter  from  Jeffrey,  that  must  have  been  written  not  long 
after,  may  also  be  inserted  here  for  the  sake  of  coherence.  It  refers 
to  a  vindication  of  Wordsworth  by  my  fiither,  in  reply  to  a  letter 
in  the  Edinburgh  Magazine  criticising  the  poet's  strictures  on  the 
£di)ibiirgh  Mevieic^s  estimate  of  the  character  of  Burns : — 

.  .  .  "■  hear  that  you  had  any  thing  to  do  with  it,  and  was  so  far 
from  feeling  any  animosity  to  the  author  that  I  conceived  a  very 
favorable  opinion  of  him.  I  have  not  had  an  opportunity  of  looking 
into  it  since  I  saw  your  letter,  but  I  can  most  confidently  assure 
you  that  nothing  that  is  there  said  can  break  any  squares  between 
us,  and  that  you  may  praise  Wordsworth  as  much  as  you  please, 
and  vilipend  my  criticisms  on  him  in  the  most  sweeping  manner 
without  giving  me  a  moment's  uneasiness  or  offence,  provided  you 
do  not  call  me  a  slanderer,  and  an  idiot,  and  a  puppy,  and  all  the 
other  fine  names  that  that  worthy  and  judicious  person  has  thought 
fit  to  lavish  on  me.  I  fairly  tell  you  that  I  think  your  veneration 
for  that  gentleman  is  a  sort  of  infatuation,  but  in  you  it  is  an  amia- 
ble one,  and  I  should  think  meanly  of  myself  indeed  if  I  were  to 
take  exception  at  a  man  for  admiring  the  poetry  or  the  speculative 
opinions  of  an  author  who,  having  had  some  provocation,  has  been 
ridiculously  unjust  to  me.  One  thing  I  am  struck  with  as  a  wilful 
blindness  and  partiality  in  the  paper  in  question,  and  that  was  your 

passing  over  entirely  the  remarkable  fact  of  the  said  W saj-iug 

little  or  nothing  of  tlie  blasphemies  against  Burns  which  occur  in  the 
Quarterly,  and  which  are  far  more  violent  and  offensive  than  mine, 
and  pouring  out  all  the  vials  of  his  wrath  at  the  Edinburgh,  which 
had  given  him  much  less  provocation.  Is  it  possible  for  you  in  your 
conscience  to  believe  after  this  that  the  tirade  against  the  Edinburgh 
critic  was  dictated  by  a  pure,  generous  resentment  for  the  injuries 
done  to  Biirns,  and  not  by  a  little  vindictive  feeling  for  the  severities 
practised  on  himself  By  the  way,  I  think  I  am  nearly  right  in 
what  I  have  said  of  Burns;  that  is,  I  tliink  the  doctrine  and  moral- 
ity to  which  I  object  is  far  oftener  inculcated  in  his  writings  than 
any  other,  and  is  plainly  most  familiar  to  his  thoughts,  though  per- 
haps it  was  ungenerous  to  denounce  it  so  strongly, 


LITERATUKE. — BLACKWOOd's    MAGAZINE.  159 

"  I  have  not  written  so  long  a  letter  these  three  years.     Pray  let 

me  hear  that  you  are  writing  a  review  of  Lord  B for  nie  in 

peace  and  felicity,  and  that  you  have  resolved  to  dirty  your  fingers 
no  more  Avith  the  quarrels  of  magazines  and  booksellers.  God  hless 
you !  "  Very  truly  yours,  F.  Jeffrey." 

My  father's  connection  with  BlackwoocVs  Magazine  Avas  such  as 
to  make  it  absolutely  necessary,  in  any  record  of  his  life,  to  give 
some  account  of  the  rise  of  tliis  periodical,  and  of  the  circumstances 
which  led  to  his  becoming  so  intimately  associated  with  its  history. 
I  shall  endeavor  to  do  so  as  briefly  as  I  can.  Fortunately,  we  are 
now  sufficiently  removed  by  time  from  the  controversies  of  those 
exciting  days,  to  look  at  them  with  perfect  calmness,  if  not  impar- 
tiality ;  with  something  of  wonder,  it  may  be,  at  the  fierceness  dis- 
played in  contests  about  things  which,  in  our  own  more  peaceful 
times,  are  treated  with  at  least  the  affectation  of  philosophic  indiffer- 
ence ;  but  also,  with  some  admiration  of  the  vigor  manifested  in 
supporting  what  Avas  heartily  believed.  It  is,  indeed,  impossible 
for  us  at  this  time  to  realise  fully  the  state  of  feeling  that  prevailed 
in  the  literature  and  politics  of  the  years  between  1810  and  1830. 
We  can  hardly  imagine  why  men,  Avho  at  heart  respected  and  liked 
each  other,  should  have  found  it  necessary  to  hold  no  communion, 
but,  on  the  contrary,  to  wage  bitter  war  because  the  one  was  an 
admirer  of  the  Prince  Regent  and  Lord  Castlereagh,  the  other  a 
supporter  of  Queen  Caroline  and  Mr.  Broiighara.  We  cannot  con- 
ceive why  a  poet  should  be  stigmatized  as  a  base  and  detestable 
character,  merely  because  he  Avas  a  Cockney  and  a  Radical ;  nor 
can  we  comprehend  how  gentlemen,  aggrieved  by  articles  in  news- 
papers or  magazines,  should  haA'e  thought  it  necessary  to  the  vin- 
dication of  their  honor,  to  horsewhip  or  shoot  the  printers  or  editors 
of  the  publications  in  Avhich  such  articles  appeared.  Yet  in  1817, 
and  the  following  years,  Ave  find  such  to  haA^e  been  the  state  of 
things  in  the  capital  of  Scotland.  Not  only  Avas  society  actually  less 
civilized ;  but  politics,  Avhich  noAV  happily  forms  no  barrier  between 
men  of  otherwise  congenial  minds,  then  constituted  the  one  great 
line  of  demarcation.  You  were  either  a  Tory  and  a  good  man,  or 
a  Wliig  and  a  rascal,  and  vice  versa.  If  you  were  a  Tory,  and 
watited  a  place,  it  was  the  duty  of  all  good  Tories  to  stand  by  you; 
it'  3'ou  were  a  Whig,  your  chance  A\'as  small ;  but  its  feebleness  was 


IGO  MEMOIR    OF    JOHN    WILSON. 

all  the  more  reason  why  you  should  be  proclaimed  a  martyr,  and 
all  your  o]>ponents  profligate  mercenaries.  If  I  exaggerate,  I  am 
open  to  correction  ;  but  such  appears  to  me  to  have  been  the  pre- 
vailing tone  among  the  men  who  ligured  most  actively  in  public  life 
about  the  time  to  which  this  chapter  relates.  In  literatm-e,  at  that 
time,  the  Edinburgh  lievieic  was  supreme.  Its  docti'iiies  were  re- 
ceived, among  those  who  believed  in  them,  as  oracular;  and  in  the 
hands  of  the  small  retailers  of  political  and  literary  dogmas  who 
swore  by  it,  those  were  becoming  insufferably  tiresome  to  the  Toiy 
part  of  mankind,  who,  singularly  enough,  had  no  literary  oracle  of 
their  own  north  of  the  Tweed.  I  suppose  the  party  being  strong  in 
power  did  not  feel  the  want  of  such  influence.  The  more  ardent  and 
active  minds  on  that  side,  however,  were  naturally  impatient  of  the 
dictatorship  exercised  by  Mr.  Jcfi'rey,  and  wanted  only  opportunity 
to  establish  an  opposing  force  in  the  interests  of  their  own  venerable 
creed.  That  opportunity  came,  and  was  vigorously  used,  too  vi^i- 
orously  at  first,  sometimes  cruelly  and  unjustly,  but  ultimately  with 
results  eminently  beneficial. 

To  begin  then  at  the  beginning.  In  the  month  of  December, 
1816,  Mr.  William  Blackwood,  who  had  by  uncommon  tact  and 
energy,  established  his  character  in  the  course  of  a  few  years  as  an 
enterprising  publisher  in  Edinburgh,  was  applied  to  by  two  literary 
men  to  become  the  publisher  of  a  new  monthly  magazine,  which 
they  had  projected.*  These  gentlemen  were  James  Cleghoru,f 
who  had  acquired  some  literary  position  as  editor  of  a  Farmers^ 
Magazine^  and  Thomas  Pringle,^  a  pleasant  writer  and  poet,  who 
afterwards  emigrated  to  South  Africa. §  The  idea  was  good,  and 
the  time  fitting  for  the  "  felt  want,"  which  is  now  pleaded  about 
once  a  week  as  the  ground  for  estabhshing  some  new  journal,  was 
then  a  serious  reaUty ;  the  only  periodical  in  Edinburgh  of  any 
mark  besides  the  Review  being  the  Scots  Magazine^  published  by 
Constable,  once  a  highly  respectable,  but  at  that  time  a  vapid  and 

•  Mr.  Gillies  in  his  Memoirs  gives  the  credit  -tf  the  origin  and  suggestion  to  Hogg. — Vol.  ', 
p.  230. 

t  Mr.  Cleghorn  was  more  fortunate  in  his  financial  tnan  his  literary  nndertakinga,  having 
been  the  founder  of  the  Scottish  Provident  Institution,  by  whom  a  monument  to  his  memory  has 
boon  erected  in  the  Eilinburgh  Wiirriston  Cemetery.     He  died  in  May,  1S3S. 

%  Author  of  yiirr.itire  of  a  lUsidence  in  S<>iUh  Africa,  EphemerideJi.  d-c  :  bom  1739,  died  ]SjI 

§  By  a  curious  coincidence  Ijoth  these  gentlemen  were  lame,  and  went  on  crutches,  an  infirmity 
to  which  ludicrous  but  tn-ist  iuii«ro|K'r  allusion  is  made  in  the  ChalJoe  MS.,  where  the/ are  de 
scribed  as  comins  in  ••skipr'iiiS"n  staves." 


LITERATURE. BLACKWOOD^S    MAGAZINE.  16l 

almost  "  doited  "  puLlication.  Messrs.  Cleghorn  and  Pringle  had 
secured  the  co-operation  of  several  clever  writers — among  others, 
Mr.  R.  P.  Gillies  and  James  Hogg — and  Mr.  Blackwood's  saga- 
cious eye  at  once  discerned  the  elements  of  success  in  the  project. 
The  arrangements  were  accordingly  proceeded  with,  on  the  footing 
that  the  publisher  and  the  editors  were  to  be  joint  proprietors,  and 
share  the  profits,  if  any.  The  first  number  appeared  in  A]jril, 
1817,  under  the  title  of  The  Edinburgh  Monthly  Magazine.  The 
contents  were  varied  and  agreeable,  but  no  way  remarkable  ;  and  a 
prefatory  note  to  the  next  number,  in  which  the  editors  spoke  of 
"  Our  humble  Miscellany,"  indicates  a  certain  mediocrity  of  aim 
which  must  have  been  distasteful  to  the  aspiring  energy  of  the  pub- 
lisher, who  had  very  difierent  views  of  what  the  Magazine  ought 
to  be  made.  There  was  no  definite  arrangement  for  the  payment 
of  contribtitors.  In  fact  it  seems  to  have  been  taken  for  granted 
that  contributions  were  to  be  supplied  on  the  most  moderate  terms, 
if  not  altogether  gratuitously.  I  find  Mr.  Blackwood  stating  in 
his  subsequent  vindication  of  himself,  in  rejily  to  the  charge  of  hav- 
ing supi)Iied  no  money  to  the  editors,  that  during  the  six  months 
of  their  connection,  he  "  had  paid  them  different  sums,  amounting 
to  i)50."  He  adds,  "They  will  tell  you  I  never  i*efused  them  any 
money  they  applied  for.  They  may  perhaps  say  the  money  was  for 
contriljutors ;  but  to  this  moment  I  am  utterly  ignorant  of  any  con- 
tributors to  whom  they  either  have  or  were  called  upon  to  pay 
money,  excepting  some  very  trifling  sums  to  two  individuals."* 
Perhaps  this  fact  may  have  something  to  do  with  the  crisis  that 
soon  occurred  in  the  management  of  the  Magazine  ;  at  all  events, 
it  had  not  gone  beyond  two  numbers,  when  editors  and  publisher 
found  they  could  not  work  together.  Mr.  Pringle  was  a  very 
amiable  man,  but  his  brother  editor  was  a  less  agreeable  person, 
and  with  an  estimate  of  his  own  literary  powers  considerably 
higher  than  that  entertained  by  his  sagacious  publisher.  On  the 
19th  of  May  the  co-editors  formally  wrote  to  Mr.  Blackwood,  let- 
ting him  know  that  his  interference  with  their  editorial  functions 
could  no  longer  be  endured.  Mr.  Blackwood  was  probably  nothing 
loath  to  receive  such  an  intimation,  and  in  the  exercise  of  his  rights 

♦  Tliis  economical  stjip  of  work  contrasts  curiously  with  the  muniflceaco  subsequently  prac- 
tise<!  in  counectiou  with  the  Ma^'azint  A  few  years  after  this,  I  ttnd  Wilson  infoiuiing  a  con- 
tnbiitur,  "Our  pay  is  ten  tcuiueas  a  sheet."  a  rate  since  that  time  n.arly  doubled. 


1('3  MEM(>1R    UF   Jl)llN    AVILSON. 

as  partner  and  puljlisher,  advertised  iii  the  June  number  of  the 
Ma;j:a/hie  that  its  jjublication  -would  be  discontinued  at  tlie  end  of 
three  montlis  from  that  date.  The  editors,  tlirowu  adrift  by  this 
cotipy  immediately  offered  their  services  to  Messrs.  Constable  anu'i 
Co.,  as  editors  of  a  new  series  of  the  Scots  Magazine^  to  a]>|)ear 
under  the  title  of  T/ie  JFJdlnburgJi  JMagazine ,'  while  Mr.  Black- 
wood, after  some  contention  and  correspondence,  agreed  to  pay  his 
quondam  partners  £125  for  their  share  in  the  copyright  of  the  JEd- 
inhurgh  Monthly  -Magazine.^  In  acquiring  the  copyright  of  the 
Magazine,  Mr.  Blackwood  deteimined  to  abandon  its  old  title,  and 
give  it  a  name  combining  the  double  advantage  that  it  would  not 
be  confounded  with  any  other,  and  would  at  the  same  time  help  to 
spread  the  reputation  of  the  publisher. 

Accordingly  in  October,  1817,  appeared  for  the  first  time  J5ZacX;- 
wood^s  Edinburgh  Magazine  (Xo.  VII.  from  commencement),  and 
it  needed  no  advertising  trumpet  to  let  the  world  know  that  a  new 
reign  (a  reign  of  terror  in  its  way)  had  begun.  In  the  previous  six 
numbers  there  had  been  nothing  allowed  to  creep  in  that  could  pos- 
sibly oftend  the  most  zealous  partisan  of  the  Blue  and  Yellow.  On 
the  contrary,  the  opening  article  of  Xo.  I.  was  a  good-natured  eulo- 
gium  on  Mr.  Francis  Horner ;  the  Edinhurgh  Review  was  praised 
for  its  ability,  moderation,  and  good  taste;  politics  were  rather 
eschewed  than  otherwise ;  the  literary  notices  were,  with  one  or  two 
exceptions,  elaboi'ately  commonplace  and  complaisant,  and,  in  fact, 
every  thing  was  exemplarily  careful,  correct,  and  colorless.  Xo.VIL 
spoke  a  diiferent  language,  and  proclaimed  a  new  and  sterner  creed. 
Among  a  considerable  variety  of  papers,  most  of  them  able  and  in- 
teresting, it  contained  not  less  than  three  of  a  kind  well  calculated 
to  arouse  curiosity  and  excitement,  and  to  give  deep  olience  to  sec- 
tions more  or  less  extensive  of  the  reading  public.  The  first  was  a 
most  unwarrantable  assault  on  Coleridge's  Biographia  Literaria^ 
which  was  adjudged  to  be  a  "most  execrable"  performance,  and  its 

*  The  sum  they  had  demrmded  was  £300,  bnt  according  to  the  pulilisher's  accounts,  submitted 
to  the  law-ai;t'nt  of  the  editors,  tlie  success  of  the  worli  had  not  been  such  as  to  justify  that  es- 
timate. The  accounts  showed  that  so  far  from  havint;  made  protit,  the  i)ublisher  was  nearly 
£140  out  of  pocket,  and  that,  "even  if  the  wliole  impression  were  sold  olf,  tliere  would  not  be 
£70  clear  profit."  Aceordini;  to  this  estimate,  whiel)  seems  to  have  satisfied  the  agent  (no  other 
than  the  afterwards  celebrated  Geor<.'e  Combe),  the  half  share  of  the  editors  at  the  most  would 
hare  been  worth  £35.  What  the  nimiber  of  copies  printed  was  I  have  no  means  of  knowing; 
it  was,  iirobatiiy,  not  large,  iirid  the  fact  thai  the  whole  impression  was  not  disposed  of,  gives  some 
l^round  tor  the  belief  that  Ih-  publisher  had  reason  to  be  dissatisfled  with  the  maJiugement. 


LITKKATUKE. BL.VCKWOt.)D's    MACiAZI^K.  103 

author  a  miserable  compound  of  "  egotism  and  malignity."*  The 
second  was  an  even  more  unjustifiable  attack  on  Leigli  Hunt,  who 
■was  spoken  of  as  a  "  [)rofl!gate  creature,"  a  person  "  withoiit  rever- 
ence either  for  God  or  man."  The  third  was  the  famous  "  Chahlee 
Manuscript,"  compared  with  which  the  sins  of  the  others  were  al- 
most pardonable  in  the  eyes  of  a  great  j^ortion  of  the  public.  The 
eftt'ct  of  this  article  upon  the  small  society  of  Edinburgh  can  now 
hardly  be  realized. f 

It  was  evident,  in  a  word,  that  a  new  and  very  formidable  power 
had  come  into  existence,  and  that  those  who  wielded  it,  whoever 
they  were,  were  not  men  to  stick  at  trifles.  The  sensation  produced 
by  the  first  number,  was  kept  up  in  those  that  followed.  There 
was  hardly  a  number  for  many  months  that  did  not  contain  at  least 
one  attack  upon  somebody,  and  the  business  was  gone  about  with 
a  systematic  determination  that  showed  there  was  an  ample  store 
of  the  same  amnmnitiou  in  reserve.  Most  people,  however  virtuous, 
have  a  kind  of  malicious  pleasure  in  seeing  others  sacrificed,  if  the 
process  be  artistically  gone  about,  and  the  Blackwood  tomahawk- 
ers  were  undeniable  adepts  in  the  art.  Even  those  who  most  con- 
demned them,  accordingly  showed  their  appreciation  of  their  per- 
formances by  reading  and  talking  of  them,  which  was  exactly  the 
thing  to  increase  their  influence.  It  must  not  be  imagined,  how- 
ever, that  the  staple  of  BlackwoocV s  contributions  consisted  of  mere 
banter  and  personality.  These  Avould  have  excited  but  slight  and 
temporary  notice,  had  the  bulk  of  the  articles  not  disi»layed  a  rare 
combination  of  much  higher  (jualities.  Whatever  subjects  Avere 
discussed,  were  handled  with  a  masterly  vigor  and  freshness,  and 
developed  a  fulness  of  knowledge  and  variety  of  talent  that  could 
not  fail  to  coiiunand  respect  even  from  the  least  approving  critic. 
The  publisher  knew  too  well  what  suited  the  public  taste,  and  had 
too  much  innate  sense  and  fairness,  to  allow  more  than  a  reasonable 

*  It  is  edifying  to  find  this  article  criticised  thus  in  "Peter's  Letters"  two  years  afterwards  :— 
••Tliis  Is  indeed  the  only  one  of  all  the  various  sins  of  the  Magazine  for  which  I  am  at  a  loss 
to  (liseuvor  not  an  apology  but  a  motive.    .    .    .    The  result  is  bad,  and,  in  truth,  very  pitiable  " 

t  It  is  unnecessary  here  to  give  any  account  of  this  singular  J<;itdV-«/>7t7,  the  history  of  which 
will  be  found  sulliciently  detailed  in  Professor  Ferrier's  excellent  Preface  to  it.  in  vol.  iv.  of  Wil- 
son's Works.  I  may  add  this  fact  only,  that  it  was  composed  in  53  Queen  street,  amid  shout? 
of  laiighter,  that  made  the  ladies  in  the  room  above  send  to  inquire,  in  wonder,  what  the  gentle- 
men below  were  about.  I  am  informed  that  among  those  who  were  met  together  on  that  mem- 
orable occasion  was  Sir  W  iUiam  llainiltuu,  who  also  exercised  his  wit  in  writing  a  verse,  and  was 
so  lunuscd  by  his  own  [lerforiii.mee  that  be  tumbled  oil'  his  ehair  in  a  lit  of  laughter. 


164  MEMOIR    OF    Julias    WILSON. 

modicum  of  abuse  m  the  pages  of  his  Magazine.  But  he  had  a  dif- 
ficult task  in  accomuiodatiug  the  inclinations  of  his  fiery  associates 
to  the  dictates  of  prudence  and  justice;  appreciating  liighly,  as  he 
did,  tlieir  remarkable  talents,  and  unwilling  to  lose  their  services, 
it  required  great  tact  and  firmness  to  restrain  their  sharp  pens,  and 
lie  more  than  once  paid  dearly,  in  solid  cash,  for  their  wanton  and 
immoderate  expressions.* 

The  public,  whether  pleased  or  angry,  inquired  with  wonder 
where  all  this  sudden  talent  had  lain  hid  that  now  threatened  to  set 
the  Forth  on  fire.  Suspicions  were  rife ;  but  Mr.  Blackwood  could 
keep  a  secret,  and  knew  the  power  of  mystery.  Who  his  contribu- 
tors were,  who  his  editor,  were  matters  on  which  neither  he  nor 
they  chose  to  give  more  information  than  w\as  necessary.  It  might 
sufiice  for  the  public  to  know,  from  the  allegorical  descriptions  of 
the  Chaldee  MS.,  that  there  Avas  a  host  of  mighty  creatures  in  the 
Service  of  the  "  man  in  plain  apparel,"  conspicuous  among  which 
were  the  '"  beautiful  Leopard  from  the  valley  of  the  Palm  trees," 
and  "  the  Scorpion  which  delighteth  to  sting  the  faces  of  men."  As 
for  their  leader,  he  was  judiciously  represented  as  a  veiled  person- 

*  The  early  defects  of  the  Magazine  are  nowhere  better  analyzed  than  by  the  very  hands  that 
were  chiefly  engaged  in  the  work.  The  authors  of  "Peter's  Letters,"  after  pointing  out  the 
faults  of  the  Edinburgh  Review,  go  on  to  say :  "These  faults — faults  thus  at  last  beginning  to  bo 
seen  by  a  considerable  number  of  the  old  readers  and  admirers  of  the  Edinburrjh  Heriew — seem 
to  have  been  at  the  bottom  of  the  aversion  which  the  writers  who  established  Blackwood's  Ma- 
gazine had  against  it;  but  their  quarrel  also  included  a  verj' just  disapprobation  of  the  un- 
patriotic mode  of  considering  the  political  events  of  the  times  adopted  all  along  by  the  Review, 
and  also  of  its  occasional  irreligious  mockeries,  borrowed  from  the  French  philosophy,  or  soi- 
d/«</«<  philosophy  of  the  last  age.  Their  great  object  seems  to  have  been  to  break  up  the  mo- 
nopoly of  influence  which  had  long  been  possessed  by  a  set  of  persons  guilty  of  perverting,  in 
60  many  ways,  talents  on  all  hands  acknowledged  to  be  great.  And  had  they  gone  about  the  es- 
eculion  of  their  design  with  as  much  aindor  and  good  feeling  as  would  seem  to  have  attended 
the  conception  of  it,  I  have  little  doubt  they  would  very  soon  have  procured  a  mighty  host  of 
readers  to  go  along  with  them  in  all  their  conclusions.  But  the  persons  who  are  supposed  to  have 
taken  the  lead  in  directing  the  new  forces,  wanted  many  of  those,  qualities  which  were  most  ne- 
cessary to  insure  success  to  their  endeavors;  and  they  possessed  others  which,  although  in  them- 
selves admirably  fitted  for  enabling  them  to  conduct  their  project  successfully,  tended,  in  the 
manner  in  which  they  made  use  of  them,  to  throw  many  unnecessary  obstacles  in  their  way.  In 
short,  they  were  very  young,  or  very  ine.xperienced  men,  who,  although  passionately  fond  of  lit- 
erature, and  even  well  skilled  in  many  of  its  finest  branches,  were  by  no  means  accurately  ac- 
quainted with  the  structure  and  practice  of  literature  as  it  exists  at  this  day  in  Britain.  .  .  . 
They  approached  the  lists  of  literary  warfare  with  the  spirit  at  bottom  of  true  knights;  but  they 
had  come  from  the  woods  and  the  cloisters,  and  not  from  the  cities  and  haunts  of  active  men,  and 
they  had  armed  themselves,  in  addition  to  their  weapons  of  the  right  temi)er,  with  many  other 
wiaponsof  cllence,  which,  although  sanctioned  in  former  times  by  the  iiractice  of  the  heroes  in 
w  hose  repositories  they  h.id  found  them  rusting,  had  now  become  utterly  ex|iloded,  and  were  re- 
garded, .ind  justly  regarded,  as  entirely  unjustifiable  and  disgraceful  by  all  who  surveyed  with 
luuderu  eyes  the  arena  of  thei   exertions." 


Ml-.  Wilson,  alias  '-The  Leopard. 


LITERATURE. BLACKWOOd's    MAGAZINE.  167 

age,  whose  name  it  was  in  vain  to  ask,  and  whose  personality  was 
itself  a  mystery.  On  that  point  the  public,  which  cannot  rest  satis- 
fied without  attributing  specific  powers  to  specific  persons,  refused 
after  a  time  to  acknowledge  the  mystery,  and  insisted  on  recog- 
nizing in  John  Wilson  the  real  impersonation  of  Blackwood's 
"  veiled  editor."  The  error  has  been  often  emphatically  corrected  : 
let  it  once  again  be  repeated,  on  the  best  authority,  that  the  only 
real  editor  Blackwood'' s  Magazine  ever  had  was  Blackwood  him- 
self. Of  tliis  fact  I  have  abundant  proofs.  Suffice  it  that  contribu- 
tions from  Wilson's  own  pen  have  beeu  altered,  cut  down,  and  kept 
back,  in  compliance  with  the  strong  will  of  the  man  whose  name  on 
the  title-page  of  tlie  Magazine  truly  indicated  with  whom  lay  the 
sole  responsibility  of  the  management. 

At  what  precise  date  my  father  came  into  personal  communica- 
tion with  Mr.  Blackwood  does  not  appear.  Before  that,  however, 
he  had  been  an  anonymous  contributor  to  the  Magazine.  In  the 
very  first  number  is  a  poem  entitled,  "  The  Desolate  Village,  a  Rev- 
erie," with  the  initial  N.,  which  bears  strong  marks  of  his  style. 
Some  others,  similarly  signed,  and  of  similar  qualities,  occur  in  sub- 
sequent numbers.  In  the  Notices  to  Correspondents  in  No.  II.,  it  is 
stated  that  the  "Letter  on  the  proposed  new  translation  of  the 
Psalms"  was  too  late  for  insertion.  That  letter,  which  did  not  ap 
pear,  is  referred  to  in  the  following  note,  without  date  or  signature, 
in  my  father's  handwriting : — 

"  Sir  : — I  enclose  a  letter  for  j'our  Magazine  from  the  same 
anonymous  writer  who  sent  you  a  communication  relative  to  a  new 
translation  of  the  I'salms.  If  these  connnunications  are  inserted, 
and  I  feel  some  confidence  that  they  are  fitted  for  a  work  like  tlie 
Edinburgh  Magazine,  I  shall  take  care  to  send  you  some  little  trifle 
every  month.  But  I  prefer  remaining  anonymous  at  present,  till  I 
see  how  my  communications  are  appreciated." 

How  the  monthly  trifles  were  appreciated  by  Mr.  Blackwood's 
two  editors,  matters  not;  that  they  were  appreciated  by  that  gen- 
tleman himself  soon  became  apparent.  Prob.ibly  enougli,  some  of 
the  anonymous  correspondent's  contributions  gave  rise  to  thoscdif- 
ferences  of  opinion  between  the  ])ublisher  and  the  editors,  which 
ended  in  their  separation.     One  cannot  l)ut  suspect  that  the  writer 


168  MEMOIR   OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

of  tlie  paper  referred  to  in  tlie  following  "Notice  to  a  Correspond- 
eut"  was  either  the  Leopard  or  the  S(;orpiou  : — "The  paper  on  Crani- 
ology  by  Peter  Candid  would  have  api)eared  in  our  present  number, 
if  it  had  not  contained  some  improper  personal  allusions."  In  the 
same  number  (III.),  at  all  events,  is  a  review  of  "The  Craniad,"  a 
Poem,  which  may  be  given  entire.*  I  have  no  doubt  the  cautio' 
editors  inserted  it  with  great  misgivings  as  to  its  containing  "  im- 
proper personal  allusions  ;"  very  possibly  the  publisher  inserted  it 
without  consulting  them.  It  is  one  of  the  very  few  lively  things  in 
the  Edbibw'fjh  MontJdy  Magazine. 

In  the  new  Magazine,  relieved  from  the  editorial  incubus,  and 
the  embarrassments  of  a  divided  responsibility,  the  genius  of  Wil- 
son found  free  scope.  Like  a  strong  athlete  who  never  before  had 
room  or  occasion  to  display  his  powers,  he  now  revelled  in  their  ex- 
ercise in  an  arena  where  the  competitors  were  abundant,  and  the 
onlookers  eagerly  interested.  Month  after  month  he  poured  forth 
the  exuberant  current  of  his  ideas  on  politics,  poetry,  philosophy, 
religion,  art,  books,  men,  and  nature,  with  a  freshness  and  force 
that  seemed  incapable  of  exhaustion,  and  regardless  of  obstacles. 
It  was  in  fact  only  a  change  in  the  form  of  his  activity.  In  that 
new  and  more  exciting  field  he  doubtless  dealt  many  a  blow,  of 
which,  on  calm  reflection  and  in  maturer  years,  he  saw  reason  to 
repent.  But  without  at  all  excusing  the  extravagance  of  censure 
and  the  violence  of  language  which  often  disfigured  these  early  coiv 
tributions  to  the  Magazine,  I  cannot  say  that  I  have  been  able  to 
trace  to  his  hand  any  instance  of  unmanly  attack,  or  one  shade  of 
real  malignity.  There  did  appear  in  the  Magazine  wanton  and  un- 
justifiable strictures  on  persons  such  as  Wordsworth  and  Coleridge, 
with  whom  he  was  on  terms  of  friendship,  and  for  whom,  in  its  own 
pages  and  elsewhere,  he  professed,  as  he  sincerely  felt,  the  highest 
esteem.  But  when  it  is  well  understood  that  he  was  never  in  any 
sense  tlie  editor,  and  that  in  these  early  days  of  the  Magazine  the 
ruling  principle  seemed  to  be  that  every  man  fought  for  his  own 

*  Tlie  Craniad,  or  Spurzheim  Illustrated.  A  Poem  in  Two  Parts.  12nio.  Blackwood. 
Edinb\ir!;h,  1S17.  "  The  Cninia<i  is  the  worst  poem  wo  have  now  in  Scotland.  The  author  has 
it  in  his  power  at  once  to  decide  the  great  craniologrical  controversy.  Let  him  submit  his  skull 
to  general  inspection,  and  if  it  exhibit  a  single  intellectual  organ,  Spiirzheim's  theory  is  over- 
thrown." The  original  of  this  characteristic  bit  of  criticism  occurs  in  a  MS.  book,  described  by 
Mr.  Gillies  as  an  "enormous  ledger,"  which,  he  says,  was  taken  possession  of  Ijy  my  father,  and 
filled  with  "skeletons"' of  pri)])osed  articles.  Of  these  sketches,  however,  tho  much  mutilsti.-d 
volume  contains  none,  Ihe  existing  contents  beiii.'  .tl:iiust  entirely  poetry. 


Mr.  Lockhiirt,  alias  '-The  Scorpion.' 


LITKRATURK. BI.ACKWOOD's    MAGAZINE.  171 

hand,  mid  was  surrounded  witli  a  cloud  of  secrecy  even  from  bis 
fellows,  it  will  ajjpear  that  he  had  simply  the  alternative  of  ceasing 
to  contribute  further  to  the  Magazine,  or  of  continuing  to  do  so 
under  the  disadvantage  of  seeming  to  approve  what  he  really  con- 
demned.* That  he  ailopted  the  latter  course  is,  I  think,  no  stigma 
on  his  character;  and  iu  after  days,  Avhen  his  influence  in  the 
Magazine  had  become  paramount,  he  made  noble  amends  for  its 
former  sins. 

The  staff' of  contributors  whom  Mr.  Blackwood  had  contrive<l  to 
rally  round  his  standard  contained  many  distinguished  men.  "The 
Great  Unknown,"  and  the  venerable  "  Man  of  Feeling,"  were  en- 
listed on  his  side,  and  gave  some  occasional  help.  Dr.  M'Crie,  the 
biographer  of  Knox,  and  Dr.  Andrew  Thomson,  were  solemnly 
and  at  much  length  reproved  by  an  orthodox  pamphleteer,  styling 
himself  Calmmts,  for  their  supposed  association  with  the  AA'icked 
authors  of  the  Chaldee  Manuscript.  Sir  David  Brewster  contri- 
buted scientific  articles,  as  did  also  Robert  Jameson  and  James 
Wilson.  Among  the  other  contributors,  actual  or  presumed,  were 
De  Quincey,  Hogg,  Gillies,  Fraser  Tytler,  Kirkpatrick  Sliarpe,  Sir 
William  Hamilton,  and  his  brother,f  the  author  of  Cyril  IViorntoii. 
But  though  all  these  and  more  figured  in  the  hst  of  Blackwood's 
supporters,  there  were  but  two  on  whom  he  placed  his  main  reli- 
ance, the  most  prolific  and  versatile  of  all  the  band,  who  between 
them  were  capable  at  any  time  of  providing  the  whole  contents  of  a 
Number.  These  were  John  Wilson  and  John  Gibson  Lockhart. 
Those  whose  only  knowledge  of  that  pair  of  briefless  young  advo- 
cates was  derived  from  seeing  them  pacing  the  Parliament  House, 
or  lounging  carelessly  into  Blackwood's  saloon  to  read  the  news- 
papers,J  and  pass  their  jokes  on  everybody,  including  themselves, 

*  Thus  it  is  possible  bis  desire  to  review  Coleridge  favorably  in  the  EMnhurgli  may  have 
arisen  fioiii  a  wish  to  do  justice  to  that  great  wan,  the  opportunity  lor  which  he  was  denied  in 
the  pages  jf  Ulaclcwood. 

t  Thoiiiis  Hamilton  wrote  several  works  besides  Cyril  Thornton ;  among  others,  Annah  of 
the  Peuiiuular  Campaign,  and  Men  and  Manners  in  America.  He  dieil  iu  1S4'2,  at  the  age  of 
fifty-three. 

X  That  lidoon  and  its  proprietor  are  thus  described  by  Dr.  Peter  Morris: — "Then  you  have  an 
elegant  oval  saloon  lighted  from  the  roof,  where  various  groups  of  loungers  and  literary  cUlittanti 
are  engaged  in  looking  at,  or  criticising  among  themselves,  the  publications  just  arrived  by  that 
day's  coach  from  town.  In  such  critical  colloquies,  the  voice  of  the  bookseller  may  ever  and  anon 
be  heard  mingling  the  broad  and  unadulterated  notes  of  its  Auld  Ueekie  music;  f<ir  unless  occu- 
pied iu  the  recesses  of  the  premises  with  some  other  business,  it  is  here  that  he  has  his  usual 
station.     He  is  a  nimble,  aelive-lookiug  man  of  middle  age,  and  moves  about  from  one  corner  to 


172  MEMOIR   OF   JOHN    WILSOX. 

could  have  little  idea  of  their  power  of  work,  or  of  the  formidahle 
manuer  in  which  it  was  being  exercised.  That  blue-eyed  and 
ruddy-cheeked  i>oet,  whose  time  seemed  to  hang  lightly  enough 
upon  his  hands,  did  not  quite  realize  one's  idea  of  the  redoubtable 
critic  whose  '•  crutch "  was  to  become  so  formidable  a  weapon. 
Nor  did  his  jaunty-looking  companion,  whose  leisure  seemed  to  be 
wholly  occupied  in  drawuig  caricatures,*  appear  a  likely  person, 
when  he  sauntered  home  from  Princes  street,  to  sit  down  to  a 
translation  from  the  German,  or  to  dash  off  at  a  sitting  "'  copy  " 
enough  to  fill  a  sheet  oi  BlxckwoocVs  Magazine.  The  striking  con- 
trast in  the  outward  aspect  of  the  two  men  corresponded  truly  to 
their  difference  of  character  and  temperament — a  difference,  how- 
ever, wliich  proved  no  obstacle  to  their  close  intimacy.  There  was 
a  picturesque  contrast  between  them,  which  might  be  simply  de- 
fined by  light  and  shade;  but  there  was  a  more  striking  dissimilarity 
than  that  which  is  merely  the  result  of  coloring,  Mr,  Lockhart's 
pale  olive  complexion  had  something  of  a  Spanish  character  in  it, 
that  accorded  well  with  the  sombre  or  rather  melancholy  expression 
of  his  countenance ;  his  thin  lips,  compressed  beneath  a  smile  of 
habitual  sarcasm,  promised  no  genial  response  to  the  warmer  emo- 
tions of  the  heart.  His  compact,  finely- formed  head  indicated  an 
acute  and  refined  intellect.  Cold,  haughty,  supercilious  in  manner, 
he  seldom  won  love,  and  not  unfrequently  caused  his  friends  to  dis- 
trust it  in  him,  for  they  sometimes  found  the  warmth  of  their  own 
feelings  thrown  back  upon  them  in  presence  of  this  cold  indifference. 
Circumstances  afterwards  conferred  on  him  a  brilliant  position,  and 
he  gave  way  to  the  weakness  Mhich  seeks  prestige  from  the  re- 
flected glory  found  in  rank.  The  gay  coteries  of  London  society 
injured  his  interest  in  the  old  friends  who  had  worked  hand  in 
hand  with  him  when  in  Edinburgh.  He  was  well  depicted  by  his 
friend  through  the  mouth  of  the  Shepherd,  as  "the  Oxford  collegian, 
wi'  a  pale  face  and  a  black  toozy  head,  but  an  e'e  like  an  eagle's ; 

kDOthiT  with  sreat  alacrity,  and  apparently  under  the  influence  of  high  animal  spirits.  His  com- 
plexion is  very  sanomlneous,  but  nothinir  can  be  more  intelligent,  kvea  and  sasacioiis  than  the 
expression  of  bis  whole  physiognomy ;  above  all,  the  gray  eyes  and  eyebrows,  as  full  of  locomo- 
tion as  tho<e  (.f  Ciitalani." — Peter  ti  Letters,  vol  ii.,  pp.  1ST,  ISS. 

♦  It  is  said,  with  what  truth  I  know  not,  that  clever  as  Mr.  Lockhart  was  with  b<ith  pen  and 
pencil,  he  lacked  curiously  one  gift  without  which  no  man  can  be  a  successful  barrister;  he  could 
not,  like  many  other  able  writers,  make  a  speech.  His  portfolios  show  that  instead  of  Uiking 
notes  during  a  trial,  his  pen  must  have  been  busily  employed  in  photographing  .ill  the  parties 
engaged,  judge,  counsel,  and  prisoner  1  avail  myself  of  this  opportunity  to  insert  here  two 
■[>ej:ijnen8  of  his  wonderful  power,  one  ^alien  fmin  the  Bench,  and  another  from  the  I'ultiL 


A  SCOTCH  MINISTEK. 

"When  last  in  Scotland  I  was  advised  to  look  about  among  the  pulpits,  to  try 
whether  any  living  specimen  could  be  found  repciiiblini:  tlie  ancient  Scottish 
worthies,  t  did  so,  but  was  not  sncci-ssrul." — Dr.  Vlrifk  Stenmiare  mi  Vie 
Natural  ChamcUr  of  the,  Scotv. — Blackwood,  vol  Iv,,  p.  829, 


litp:rature. — bl.vckwoods  magazine.  175 

and  a  sort  o'  lauch  about  the  screwed-up  mouth  o'  him  that  fules 
ca'ed  no  canny,  for  they  eoultlna'  thole  the  meaning  o't."  I  am 
fortunate  enough  to  be  able  to  give  the  capital  likeness  on  page  185, 
drawn  by  his  own  hand,  in  which  the  satirist  who  spared  no  one, 
has  most  assuredly  not  been  flattering  to  himself. 

Wilson's  appearance  in  those  days  is  thus  described  in  Peters 
Letters  by  Mr.  Lockhart : — "  In  complexion  he  is  the  best  specimen 
I  have  ever  seen  of  the  genuine  or  ideal  Goth.  His  hair  is  of  the 
true  Sicambrian  yellow;  his  eyes  are  of  the  brightest,  and  at  the 
same  time  of  the  clearest  blue,  and  the  blood  glows  in  his  cheek 
with  as  firm  a  fervor  as  it  did,  according  to  the  description  of 
Jornandes,  in  those  of  the  '  Bello  gaudentes,  pra^lio  ridentes  Teu- 
tones'  of  Attila."  The  black-haired  Spanish-looking  Oxonian,  with 
that  uncanny  laugh  of  his,  was  a  very  dangerous  person  to  encoun- 
ter in  the  field  of  letters.  "  I've  sometimes  ihocht,  Mr.  North," 
says  the  Shepherd,  "that  ye  were  a  wee  feared  for  him  yoursel', 
and  used  rather,  without  kennin  't,  to  draw  in  your  horns."  Sys- 
tematic, cool,  and  circumspect,  when  he  armed  himself  for  conflict 
it  was  with  a  fell  and  deadly  determination.  The  other  rushed  into 
combat  rejoicingly,  like  the  Teutons ;  but  even  in  his  fiercest  mood, 
he  was  alive  to  pity,  tenderness,  and  humor.  When  he  impaled  a 
victim,  he  did  it,  as  Walton  recommends,  not  vindictively,  but  as  if 
he  loved  him.  Lockhart,  on  the  other  hand,  though  susceptible  of 
deep  emotions,  and  gifted  with  a  most  playful  wit,  had  no  scruple 
in  wounding  to  the  very  quick,  and  no  thrill  of  compassion  ever 
held  back  his  hand  wheii  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  strike.  He 
was  certainly  no  coward,  but  he  liked  to  fight  under  cover,  and 
keep  himself  unseen,  while  Wilson,  even  under  the  shield  of  an- 
onymity, was  rather  prone  to  exhibit  his  own  ixnmistakable  per- 
sonality. 

Such  were  the  two  principal  contributors  to  lilachwood  when  it 
broke  upon  the  startled  gaze  of  Edinburgh  Whigdom,  like  a  fiery 
comet  "that  with  fear  of  change  perplexes  monarehs."  Xot  with- 
out reason  did  the  adherents  of  the  "  Blue  and  Yellow"  wish  ill  to 
the  formidable  new-comer,  for,  apart  from  its  undeniable  oflfences 
ag.iinst  good  feeling  and  tnste,  there  was  a  power  and  life  about 
the  Magazine  that  betokened  ominously  for  the  hitherto  unchal- 
lenged supremacy  of  the  great  Review.  In  spite  of  its  errors,  the 
substantial  merits  of  the  Magazine  securely  established  its  popu- 


176  MEMOIR   OF   JOHN   WILSON. 

larity,  and  in  the  course  of  a  few  years  it  became  recognized 
throughout  Britain  as  the  most  able  and  interesting  periodical  work 
tliat  had  ever  been  published. 

In  noticing  the  early  contributors,  it  would  not  do  to  pass  over 
Mr.  Robert  Sym,  whose  pseudonym  of  "  Timothy  IHckler"  became 
as  familiar  to  its  readers  as  that  of  Christopher  North  himself. 
That  "noble  and  genuine  old  Tory,"  as  the  Shepherd  calls  him,  was 
"Wilson's  uncle,  and  in  his  hospitable  house  in  George  Square,  alias 
"  Southside,"  the  contributors  to  the  Magazine  had  many  a  merry 
gathering.  He  was  a  fine-looking,  elderly  gentleman,  of  uncommon 
height  and  aristocratic  bearing,  his  white  hair  contrasting  strikingly 
with  the  yoiithful  freshness  of  his  complexion.  "  Tickler,"  says  the 
Shepherd,  "is  completely  an  original,  as  any  one  may  see  who  has 
attended  to  his  remarks ;  for  there  is  no  sophistry  there ;  they  are 
every  one  his  own.  Xay,  I  don't  believe  that  Xorth  has,  would, 
or  durst  put  a  single  sentence  into  his  mouth  that  had  not  proceeded 
out  of  it.  Xo,  no  ;  although  I  was  a  scapegoat,  no  one,  and  far  less 
a  nephew,  might  do  so  with  Timothy  Tickler.*  His  reading,  both 
ancient  and  modern,  is  boundless ;  his  taste  and  perception  acute 
beyond  those  of  other  men ;  his  satire  keen  and  biting;  but  at  tlie 
same  time  his  good-humor  is  altogether  inexhaustible,  save  when 
ignited  by  coming  in  collision  with  Whig  or  Radical  principles. 
At  a  certain  period  of  the  night  our  entertainer  knew  by  the  long- 
ing looks  which  I  cast  to  a  beloved  corner  of  the  dining-room  what 
I  was  wanting  ;  then  with  '  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,  Hogg,  I  was 
forgetting,'  he  would  take  out  a  small  gold  key,  that  hung  by  a 
chain  of  the  same  precious  metal  to  a  particular  button-hole,  and 
stalk  away,  as  tall  as  life,  open  two  splendid  fiddle-cases,  and  pro 
duce  their  contents,  first  the  one  and  then  the  other,  but  always 
keeping  the  best  to  himself.  I'll  never  forget  with  what  elated  dig- 
nity he  stood  straight  up  in  the  middle  of  that  floor  and  rosined 
his  bow :  there  was  a  twist  of  the  lip  and  an  upward  beam  of  the 
eye  that  was  truly  sublime;  then  down  we  sat  side  by  side  and  be- 
gan  At  the  end  of  every  tune  we  took  a  glass,  and  still  our 

enthusiastic  admiration  of  the  Scottish  tunes  increased,  our  energies 
of  execution  were  redoubled,  till  ultimatt-ly  it  became,  not  only  a 
complete  and  Avell-contested  race,  but  a  trial  of  strength  to  deter- 

*  But  all  tho  papers  in  Blaciicood,  signed  "Timothy  Tickler,"  were  not  written  by  Mr.  Sym, 
Mr.  Hogg  notwithstanding. 


A  SCOTCH  JUDGE. 


LITERATURE. liLACKWOOD  S    MAGAZINE, 


179 


mine  which  should  drown  the  other.  The  only  feelings  short  of 
ecstasy  that  came  across  us  in  these  enraptured  moments  were 
caused  by  hearing  the  laugh  and  joke  going  on  with  our  friends,  as 
if  no  such  thrilling  strains  had  been  flowing.  But  if  Syni's  eye 
chanced  to  fall  on  them,  it  instantly  retreated  upwards  again  in 
mild  indignation."* 

The  Shepherd  himself  was  not  the  least  remarkable  among  that 
set  of  remarkable  men.  In  spite  of  qualities  that  made  it  impossi- 
ble perfectly  to  respect  him,  his  original  genius  and  good-natured 
simplicity  made  him  a  favorite  with  them  all,  until  his  vanity  had 
become  quite  unendurable.  He  plumed  himself  immensely  on  being 
the  real  originator  of  the  Magazine,  and  of  the  Chaldee  MS.  He 
was  a  very  frequent  contributor,  but,  in  addition  to  his  own  genu- 
ine compositions,  he  got  the  credit  of  numberless  performances, 
both  in  prose  and  verse,  which  he  had  never  beheld  till  they  ap- 
peared under  his  name  in  the  pages  of  the  Magazine.  This  was  a 
part  of  that  system  of  mystification  practised  in  the  management, 
which  has  never  been  carried  so  far  in  any  other  publication,  and 
undoubtedly  contributed  very  greatly  to  its  success.  The  illustri- 
ous example  of  Sir  Walter  Scott  had  given  encouragement  to  this 
species  of  deception,  and  the  editor  and  writers  of  Slackwood 
thought  themselves  quite  at  liberty,  not  only  to  perplex  the  public 
by  affixing  all  sorts  of  fictitious  names  and  addresses  to  their  com- 


♦  The  following  epitaph  on  Tickler,  from  the  Nodes,  is  worthy  of  extraction  :- 


"  Pray  for  the  soul 

Of  Timothy  Tickler; 
For  the  Church  and  the  bowl 
A  determined  stickler. 

"  Born  and  bred  in  the  land 

Where  Fyne  hoirings  they  munch, 
And  a  capital  hand 
At  concocting  of  punch. 

"  From  that  great  bumper  school 
To  Auld  Keekie  he  came. 
And  drew  in  a  stool 
To  his  desk  in  the  same. 


"  But,  though  W.  8., 

And  ambitious  to  thrive. 
Even  his  foes  must  confess 
Cheated  no  man  alive. 

"  Neither  harried  poor  genfrv 
Of  house  or  of  land. 
Nor  bolted  the  country 
With  cash  in  his  hand. 

"  Whore  tall  as  a  stccp]«. 
And  thin  as  a  shadow, 
lie  towered  o'er  the  people 
In  the  Links  or  the  Meadoi 


{(Jliorus.) — With  a  pije  in  his  cheek 

And  a  goblet  before  him, 
Every  night  of  the  week 
In  ssecula  SiEculoium." 


Mr.  Byiu  was  born  in  nf)0  and  died,  in  1844. 


ISO  MEMOIR    OF    JOIIX    WILSON. 

munications,*  but  to  put  forth  their  je^ix  cT esprit  occasiona'ly  uiuler 
cover  of  tlie  names  of  real  personages  who  had  never  dreamed  of  so 
distinguishing  themselves.  This  was  certainly  carrying  the  system 
to  a  most  unwarrantable  length ;  but  it  must  be  allowed  that  in  the 
case  of  the  two  individuals  most  played  upon  in  this  respect,  the 
liberty  Avas  taken  by  no  means  amiss.  "■The  Shepherd"  was  one 
of  these,  and  he  rather  enjoyed  the  fame  which  was  thus  thrust 
upon  him  in  addition  to  his  own  proper  deserts. f  He  gives  a  most 
amusing  account  of  his  sufferings  at  the  hands  of  Lockhart,  whom 
he  describes  as  "  a  mischievous  Oxford  puppy,  dancing  after  the 
young  ladies,  and  drawing  caricatures  of  every  one  who  came  in 
contact  with  him."  "  I  dreaded  his  eye  terribly,"  he  says,  "  and  it 
was  not  without  reason,  for  he  was  very  fond  of  playing  tricks  on 
me,  but  always  in  such  a  way  that  it  was  impossible  to  lose  temper 
with  him.  I  never  parted  company  with  him  that  my  judgment 
was  not  entirely  jumbled  with  regard  to  characters,  books,  and  lit- 
erary articles  of  every  description.''^  Lockhart  continued  to  keep 
his  mind  in  the  utmost  perplexity  for  years  in  all  things  that  related 
\o  the  Magazine.  The  Shepherd  was  naturally  anxious  to  know 
whose  the  tremendous  articles  were  that  made  so  much  sensation 
fliouthly,  and  having  found  by  experience  that  he  could  extract  no 
fliformation  out  of  Sym  or  Wilson,  he  would  repair  to  Lockhart  to 
ask  him,  awaiting  his  reply  with  fixed  eye  and  a  beating  heart : 
"Then,  A\ith  his  cigar  in  his  mouth,  his  one  leg  flung  carelessly  over 
the  other,  and  without  the  symptom  of  a  smile  on  his  face,  or  one 
twinkle  of  mischief  in  his  dark  gray  eye,  he  would  father  the  arti- 
cles on  his  brother,  Captain  Lockhart,  or  Peter  Robertson,  or  Sheriff 

*  In  the  early  numbers  of  the  Masazine  one  meets  a  perfect  host  of  these  mythical  person 
ages,  and  the  impression  conveyed  to  the  credulous  reader  must  have  been  that  contributions 
were  flowing  in  from  remarkab'.e  peiso.is  in  all  quarters  of  the  em[iire.  There  was  really  so 
much  variety  and  individuality  imp,»rtcd  to  these  imaginary  characters  that  it  was  very  dilficult 
to  perceive  that  the  same  wriur  was  assuming  the  guises  of  William  Wastlc,  Esq.,  and  Dr. 
Ulrick  Sternstarc,  and  Philip  Kempferl.ausen,  and  the  Baron  Lauerwinkel. 

t  His  expressions  of  opinion  on  the  subject  varied  according  to  his  mood,  but  his  sober  judg. 
meut  of  the  matter  is  on  record  in  his  own  words: — "My  friends  in  general  have  been  of  o|>inion 
that  he  (Wilson)  has  amused  himself  and  the  public  too  often  at  my  expense ;  but,  except  in  ontj 
instance,  which  terminated  very  ill  for  mo.  a.id  in  which  I  had  no  more  concern  than  the  man 
in  the  moon,  I  never  discovered  any  evil  dtsigl  ou  his  part,  and  thought  it  all  excellent  sport. 
At  the  same  time,  I  must  acknowledge  that  it  wus  using  ti>o  much  freedmn  with  any  author  ta 
print  his  name  in  full  to  poems,  letters,  and  essuys  wiiich  ho  himself  never  saw.  I  do  not  say  be 
has  ilone  this,  but  either  he  or  some  one  else  has  A•m^^  it  n>anj  i  tini*"  fhis  was  writtfo  in  1S82. 
Of  Wilson's  own  kind  feeling  to  Hogg,  see  letter  of  Ib&i. 
X  Hogg's  Memoir». 


LITERATURE. BLACKWOOd's    MAGAZINE.  181 

Cay,  or  James  Wilson,  or  that  queer,  fat  '  body,'  Dr.  Scott,  and 
sometimes  on  James  and  John  BaUantyne,  and  Sam  Anderson,  and 
jioor  Baxter.  Then  away  I  flew  with  the  wonderful  news  to  my 
other  associates,  and  if  any  remained  incredulous,  I  swore  the  facts 
down  through  them ;  so  that  before  I  left  Edinburgh  I  was  ac- 
counted the  greatest  liar  that  was  in  it  except  one."*  The  simple 
Shepherd  by  and  by  found  out  that  these  conspirators  had  made  u|t 
their  minds  to  act  on  O'Doherty's  principle,  of  never  denying  any 
thing  they  had  not  written,  or  ever  acknowledging  any  thing  they 
Iiad.  He  accordingly  thought  himself  safe  in  thenceforth  signing 
his  name  to  every  thing  he  published.  "  But  as  soon,"  he  says,  "  as 
the  rascals  perceived  this,  they  signed  my  name  as  fast  as  I  did. 
They  then  continued  the  incomparable  JVbctes  Ambrosiance  for  the 
sole  purpose  of  putting  all  the  sentiments  into  the  Shepherd's  mouth 
which  they  durst  not  avowedly  say  themselves,  and  these,  too,  often 
applying  to  my  best  friends." f 

A  single  instance  will  show  to  what  lengths  this  system  of  decep- 
tion, for  it  can  be  called  nothing  else,  was  carried.  In  the  articles 
on  Leigh  Hunt,  already  mentioned,  he  was  accused,  among  other 
things,  of  having  pestered  his  friend  Hazlitt  to  review  him  in  the 
Edinburgh.  Soon  after — I  tiiid  fiom  Leigh  Hunt's  "  Con-espond- 
ence,"  recently  published — he  wrote  to  Lord  Jeffrey  the  letter  given 
below.J  Which  of  the  writers  in  Blachioood  perpetrated  this  very 
wicked  joke  I  know  not,  but  its  point  lay  in  the  fact  that  Sir  J.  G. 
Dalyell,  Avith  whose  name  so  great  a  liberty  had  been  taken,  wa3 
perhaps  of  all  men  then  in  Edinburgh  the  one  who,  as  a  good  Whig, 
regarded  J^lackwood's  Magazine  with    most  abhorrence.      A  cor- 

*  Hogg's  Memoirs. 

t  Tbid. 

%  "  Deau  Sir: — I  trouble  you  with  this,  to  say,  that  since  my  last  I  have  been  made  acquainted 
with  the  atrocious  nonsense  written  about  nic  in  BlacktcoocTs  Magazine,  anil  that  nothing  can 
be  falser  than  what  is  said  respecting  my  having  asked  and  pestered  Mr.  Ilazlitt  to  write  an  article 
ui)on  my  poem  in  the  Edinhttigh  Jierieir.  I  never  breathed  a  syllable  to  him  on  the  subject, as 
anybody  who  knows  me  would  say  lor  me  at  once,  for  I  am  reckoned,  if  any  thing,  somewhat 
over  fastidious  and  fantastic  on  such  matters.  I  received  last  night  a  letter,  signed  John  Krchom 
(Uraham?)  Dalyell,  advocate,  the  author  of  which  tells  me  at  last  that  he  is  the  writer  of  the 
arti'-le.  and  that  he  did  not  mean  to  attack  my  private  character!  lie  only  attacked  the  bad  priu 
ciples  I  evinced  in  my  writinvrs.  You  may  conceive  by  this  that  this  letter  is  a  strange  niixturn 
of  affected  airs  and  real  paltering.  I  have  written  this  evening  to  Edinbur-rh.  according  to  tho 
signature,  to  ask  whetlier  Mr.  Dalyell  (if  there  is  such  a  person)  avows  himself  the  author  of  the 
letter.  15ut  I  am  taking  up  your  lime  with  these  matters.  I  merely  wishril,in  the  flrst  insUince, 
to  state  what  I  have  mentioned  above. 

"  Believe  me,  my  dear  sir,  most  sincerely  yours, 

"18  Lisbon  Grovp,  isn."  '     "LkigmHunt. 

8 


182  MEMOIR    OF   JOILN    WILSON. 

respondent  informs  me  that  lie  recollects  well  Sir  John  coming  to 
him  in  a  state  of  violent  agitation,  to  show  the  letter  he  had  jiret 
received  from  Leigh  Hunt,  enclosing  the  pretended  confession  of 
authorship  by  himself  '*  Oh,  the  villany  of  these  fellows  !"  ex- 
claimed the  persecuted  Baronet.*  It  was  in  truth  a  most  unscru2)u- 
lous  trick. 

But  the  most  elaborate  and  successful  of  these  mystifications,  of 
all  which  I  suspect  the  invention  nmst  be  attributed  to  Lockhart, 
was  that  about  Dr.  Scott,  of  Glasgow,  or  "the  Odontist,"  as  he 
dubbed  him.  I  am  not  aware,  indeed,  of  any  other  instance  of  this 
kind  of  joke  being  carried  out  so  steadily  and  with  such  entire  suc- 
cess. The  doctor  was  a  dentist,  who  practised  both  in  Edinburgh 
and  Glasgow,  but  resided  chiefly  in  the  latter  city, — a  f\it,  bald, 
queer-looking,  and  jolly  little  man,  fond  of  jokes  and  conviviality, 
but  with  no  more  pretensions  to  literary  or  poetic  skill  than  a  street 
porter.  To  his  own  and  his  friends'  astonishment  he  was  intro- 
duced in  J^lackwood's  Magazine  as  one  of  its  most  valued  contrib- 
utors, and  as  the  author  of  a  variety  of  clever  verses.  There  was 
no  mistake  about  it,  "Dr.  James  Scott,  7  Miller  street,  Glasgov.," 
was  a  name  and  address  as  well  known  as  that  of  Mr.  Blackwood 
himself.  The  ingenious  author  had  contrived  to  introduce  so  many 
of  the  Doctor's  peculiar  phrases,  and  references  to  his  Saltmarket 
acquaintances,  that  the  Doctor  himself  gradually  began  to  believe 
that  the  verses  were  really  his  own,  and  when  called  on  to  sing  one 
of  his  songs  in  company,  he  assumed  the  airs  of  authorship  with 
perfect  complacency.  The  "  Odontist"  became  recognized  as  one 
of  Blackwood's  leading  characters,  and  so  far  was  the  joke  carried, 
that  a  volume  of  his  compositions  was  gravely  advertised  in  a  list 
of  new  works,  prefixed  to  the  Magazine,  as  "in  the  press. "f     Even 

*  He  ha'l  been  held  up  to  ridicule,  nnder  a  most  horrible  disguise,  in  the  "  Chaidee  MS,,"  for 
which,  however,  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  receiviDg  damages  in  an  action  brought  against  the 
publisher, 

t  Had  the  volume  ever  appeared,  it  would  have  proved  a  very  unique  collection.  One  of  the 
songs  attributed  to  him  became  so  populai-,  and  is  really  so  admirable  in  its  kind,  as  to  be  worth 
reproducing  here  as  a  specimen  of  these  curious  lyrics.  There  is  no  doubt  that  Mr.  Lockhai  was 
the  author. 

"CAPTAIX   PATON'8  LAM£^•T. 

"  Touch  once  more  a  sober  measure,  and  let  punch  and  tears  be  sued. 
For  a  prince  of  good  old  fellows,  that,  alack -a-day,  is  dead  I 
For  a  prince  of  worthy  fellows,  and  a  pretty  man  also. 
That  has  left  the  Saltmarket  in  sorrow,  grief,  and  woe. 
Oh,  we  ne'er  shall  see  the  like  of  Cajitain  Paton  no  mo ! 


LITERATURE. BLACKWOod's    MAGAZINE.  183 

the  acute  publisher,  John  Balluntyne,  Hogg  relates,  was  so  coii- 
vincecl  of  the  Odontist's  genius,  that  he  expressed  a  great  desire  to 
be  introduced  to  so  remarkable  a  man,  and  wished  to  have  the  honor 
of  being  his  publisher.  The  Doctor's  fame  went  far  beyond  Edin- 
burgh.    Happening  to  pay  a  visit  to  Liverpool,  he  was  immediately 

"  His  waistcoat,  coat,  and  breeches  were  all  cut  off  the  same  web, 
Of  a  beautiful  siiuft'-eolor,  or  a  modest  geiity  drab; 
The  blue  stripe  in  his  stockins  round  his  neat  slim  leg  did  go, 
And  his  ruffles  of  the  cambric  fine  they  were  whiter  than  the  snow. 
Oh,  we  ne'er  shall  sec  the  like  of  Captain  Paton  no  mo  I 

"  His  hair  was  curled  in  order,  at  the  rising  of  the  sun, 
In  comely  rows  and  buckles  smart  that  about  his  ears  did  run ; 
And  before  there  was  a  toupee  that  some  inches  up  did  grow. 
And  behind  there  was  a  long  queue  that  did  o'er  his  shoulders  flow. 
Oh,  we  ne'er  shall  see  the  like  of  Captain  Paton  no  mo ! 

"  And  whenever  we  forgathered,  he  took  off  his  wee  three-cockit. 
And  he  proffered  you  his  snuft'-box,  which  he  drew  from  his  side-pocket; 
And  on  Burdett  or  Buonaparte  he  would  make  a  remark  or  so, 
And  then  along  the  plainstones  like  a  provost  he  would  go. 
Oh,  we  ne'er  shall  see  the  like  of  Captain  Paton  no  mo ! 

"  Now  and  then  upon  a  Sunday  he  invited  me  to  dine. 
On  a  herring  and  a  mutton-chop,  which  his  maid  dressed  very  fine; 
There  was  also  a  little  Malmsey,  and  a  bottle  of  Bordeaux, 
Which  between  me  and  the  Captain  passed  nimbly  to  and  fro. 
Oh,  I  ne'er  shall  take  pot-luck  with  Captain  Paton  no  mo  I 

"  Or  if  a  bowl  was  mentioned,  the  Captain  he  would  ring. 
And  bid  Nelly  run  to  the  Westport,  and  a  stoup  of  water  bring; 
Then  would  he  mix  the  genuine  stuff,  as  they  made  it  long  ago. 
With  limes  that  on  his  property  in  Trinidad  did  grow. 
Oh,  we  ne'er  shall  taste  the  like  of  Captain  Paton's  punch  no  mo  I 

'•  And  then  all  the  time  he  would  discourse  so  sensible  and  courteous, 
Perhaps  talking  of  last  sermon  he  had  heard  from  Dr.  Porteous, 
Or  some  little  bit  of  scandal  about  Mrs.  So  and  So, 
Which  he  scarce  could  credit,  having  heard  the  con.  but  not  the  pro. 
Oh,  we  ne'er  shall  hear  the  like  of  Cai)tain  Paton  no  mo ! 

"  Or  when  the  candles  were  brought  forth,  and  the  night  was  fairly  setting  in. 
He  would  tell  some  fine  old  stories  about  Minden-fieUl  or  Dettingen ; 
How  he  fought  with  a  French  major,  and  dispatched  him  at  a  blow, 
While  his  blood  ran  out  like  water  on  the  soft  grass  below. 
Oh,  we  ne'er  shall  hear  the  like  of  Cai)tain  Paton  no  mo  I 

"  But  at  last  the  Captain  sickened,  and  grew  worse  from  day  to  day. 
And  all  missed  him  in  the  coffee-room,  from  which  ho  now  stayed  away; 
On  Sabbath,  too,  the  Wee  Kirk  made  a  melanchol.v  show. 
All  for  wanting  of  the  presence  of  our  venerable  beau. 
Oh,  we  ne'er  shall  see  the  like  of  Captain  Paton  no  mo! 

"  And  in  spite  of  all  that  Cleghorn  and  Corkindale  could  do. 
It  was  plain,  from  twenty  symptoms,  that  death  was  in  his  view; 
So  the  Captain  made  his  testament,  and  submitted  to  his  foe. 
And  we  laid  him  by  the  Knm's-horn  kirk ;  'tis  the  way  we  all  must  go. 
•  Oh.  we  Di'er  shall  see  the  like  of  Captain  Paton  no  mo! 


184  MEMOIR    OF   JOHN    WILSON, 

welcomed  by  the  literary  society  of  the  town  as  the  "  glorious  Odon- 
tist"  of  BlackwoocVs  Magazine,  and  received  a  complimentary  din- 
ner, which  he  accepted  in  entire  good  faith,  replying  to  the  toa.^t  of 
the  evening-  with  all  the  formality  that  became  the  occasion. 

But  the  spirit  of  fim  and  mischief  that  prompted  these  outrageous 
jokes  did  not  confine  itself  to  practising  them  on  the  outer  world. 
The  overflowing  satire  of  the  mventors  was  turned  by  them  even 
upon  one  another.  In  a  very  clever  but  rather  tedious  composition 
of  Lockhart's,  called  the  "3Iad  Banker  of  Amsterdam,"  he  pokes 
his  fun  at  his  friends  all  round.  There  was  a  society  in  Edinburgh 
called  the  "  Dilettanti"  club,  of  which  "Wilson  was  President.  They 
came  in  for  a  sketch,  and  he  begins  with  his  friend  the  President : — 

"  They're  pleased  to  call  themselves  The  Dilettanti, 
The  President's  the  first  I  chanced  to  show  'em ; 

He  writes  more  malagrugrously  tlian  Dante, 
The  City  of  the  Plague  's  a  shocking  poem; 

But  yet  he  is  a  spirit  light  and  jaunty, 

And  jocular  enough  to  those  who  know  him ; 

To  tell  the  truth,  I  think  John  "\\ilson  sliines 

More  o'er  a  bowl  of  punch  than  in  his  lines." 

It  is  said  that  my  fiither  chanced  to  see  the  jiroof-sheet  by  acci- 
dent before  it  went  to  press,  and  instantly  dashed  in  immediately 
after  the  above  stanza,  not  a  little  to  the  chagrin  of  the  author,  the 
following  impromptu  lines  : — 

"  Then  touched  I  off  friend  Lockhart  (Gibson  John), 
So  fond  of  jabbering  about  Tieck  ond  Sclilegel, 

Klopstock  and  "U'ieland,  Kant  and  Mendelssohn, 
All  high  Dutch  quacks  hke  Spurzheim  or  Feinagle ; 

Him  the  Chaldee  yclept  the  Scorpion ; 

The  claws  but  not  the  pinions  of  the  eagle 

Are  Jack's ;  but  though  I  do  not  mean  to  flatter, 

Undoubtedly  he  has  strong  powers  of  satire." 

The  troubles  in  which  the  publisher  and  su|)porters  of  the  Maga 
zine  became  involved  commenced,  as  has  been  seen,  with  its  very 
first  number  under  the  new  regime.     The  assaults  on  Coleridge 

"  Join  all  in  chorus,  .iolly  boys,  and  let  punch  and  tears  be  shed. 
For  this  prince  of  ^ood  old  fellows  that,  aluck-a-day,  is  dead! 
Jfvt  this  prince  of  worthy  fellows,  and  a  pretty  man  also. 
That  has  left  the  Saltinarket  in  sorrow,  ?rief,  and  woe  I 
For  it  ne'er  shall  see  the  like  of  CapUiin  Paton  no  mot" 

For  a  c<iinplete  copy  of  this  lyric  see  Bhickicood,  vol  v.,  p.  785.  * 


Mr.  Gibson  Lockbart,  alian  Huron  LaiierwinkLl,  alUtg  Williaui  Wiistlo.  aluis  Dr.  Ulrick 
Sturnsture,  alias  Dr.  Pctur  Morris,  ytc,  as  sketched  by  liimself. 


LITEKATUKE. BLACKWODd's    MAGAZTXE,  187 

and  Hunt  might  liave  been  overlooked  by  the  Edii)biirgh  public, 
but  the  Chaldee  MS.,  though  in  reality  a  joke  in  comparison,  raised 
a  storm  of  solemn  indignation,  wliich  it  required  all  the  courage 
and  energy  of  the  i)ublisher  to  bear  up  against.  In  a  second  edition 
of  the  Magazine,  which  was  very  rapidly  called  for,  the  obnoxious 
article  was  withdiawn,*  doubtless  much  to  the  disappointment  of 
purchasci's.  For  in  fact  the  outcry,  which  at  first  seemed  to 
threaten  the  extinction  of  the  Magazine,  was  the  best  possible  stim- 
ulant to  its  success.  It  throve  on  opposition,  and  waxed  more 
bold  and .  provoking  as  the  enemy  showed  more  sensitive  apprecia- 
tion of  its  power.  But  for  some  time  the  publisher's  position  was 
no  enviable  one,  as  may  be  gathered  from  the  second  of  two  follow- 
ing letters  from  Mrs.  Wilson  to  her  sister  in  England : — 

"  Edinburgh,  December  18,  1817. 
"  I  hope  you  got  your  last  number  of  the  Magazine  ;  I  have  been 
so  busy  working  that  I  have  not  had  time  to  look  at  it.  The  first 
thing  in  it,  on  the  '  Pulpit  Eloquence  of  Scotland,'  is  written  by 
Mr.  Lockhart,  a  young  advocate,  a  friend  of  Mr.  Wilson's.  I  be- 
lieve there  is  not  much  of  Mr.  W.'s  in  the  last  number.  I  think 
there  is  something  about  the  Lament  of  Tasso  ;  that  is  his.  You 
were  right  in  your  conjecture  about  Mr.  Hogg's  production  ;  his 
prose  compositions  are  not  in  the  happiest  style  ;  there  will  be 
another  of  his  in  the  next  number, — a  letter  addressed  to  C.  K. 
Sliarjje,  Esq.  Another  article  in  it,  entitled,  '  On  the  late  National 
Calamity,'  is  Mr.  W.'s  ;  and  the  one  on  Mr.  Alison's  pulpit  elo- 
quence is  written  by  a  son  of  his.  A  review  of  JNIandeville  is  by 
Mr.  Lockhart.  There  is  something  besides  of  ]\[r.  W.'s  ;  but  I 
don't  exactly  know  what  it  is.     I  think  it  is  about  Old  Masters." 

''May  20,  1818. 

"  The  number  that  comes  out  to-day  is  pronounced  a  very  good 
one,  and  I  suppose  you  will  soon  have  it.  The  articles  written  by 
JMr.  W.  are  those  '  On  Truth,'  the  '  F'udge  Family  in  Paris,'  Childe 
Harold,  canto  4th,  and  Horace  Walpole's  Letters.      The  letter  to 

*  Tlie  following  note  w.'is  iirt'lixcd  to  the  NovcinluT  niinilpcr: — "Tlie  editor  liPS  le.irneil  «itb 
regret  tliat  an  artielo  in  the  first  edition  of  No.  Vll.,  wlneh  was  iiiteiideii  as  a  Jeu-</'e-y/i-it, 
has  been  constr'ied  so  as  to  give  offence  to  individuals  justly  entitUd  to  resjieet  and  regard, 
he  has,  on  that  account,  withdrawn  it  in  the  second  edition,  and  can  only  add  that,  il  what  haf 
b«i/oened  could  have  been  anticii)aled.  the  article  in  question  ciilainly  never  would  have  aiipcareiL" 


1S8  MEMOIR    or   JOTIX    WILSON. 

Dr.  Clialmers  is  by  Mr.  Lockhart.  I  am  not  quite  sure  if  Mr.  W. 
will  liave  any  thing  in  the  next  Edinburgh  Review,  but  I  hope  he 
will,  and  I  will  tell  you  what  it  is  when  I  know. 

"  You  asked  it'  Ensign  O'Doherty  was  a  fictitious  character  ;  he 
is,  and  was  created  by  a  Mr.  Hamilton,  a  particularly  handsome  and 
gentlemanly  young  man  in  the  army  ;  he  is  a  brother  of  Sir  Wil- 
liam Hamilton,  a  friend  of  Mr.  Wilson's,  Avhom  you  may  have  heard 
me  mention.  The  city  of  late  has  been  in  a  state  of  pleasing  com- 
motion owing  to  a  fracas  which  took  place  last  week  between 
Blackwood  and  a  Mr.  Douglas  from  Glasgow,  a  disgusting,  vulgar, 
conceited  Avriter,  whose  name  was  mentioned  in  one  of  Nicol  Jar- 
vie's  letters*  in  the  Magazine,  which  gave  the  gentleman  such  high 
offence,  that  after  mature  deliberation  he  determined  on  coming  to 
Edinburgh,  and  horsewhipping  3Ir.  Blackwood.  Accordingly, 
about  a  week  since  he  arrived  ;  and  one  day  as  the  worthy  book- 
seller was  entering  his  shop,  Mr.  D.  followed  him,  and  laid  his  whip 
across  his  shoulder  ;  and  before  Mr.  B.  had  time  to  recover  from 
his  surprise,  Mr.  D.  walked  oif  without  leaving  his  address.  Mr.  B. 
immediately  went  out  and  bought  a  stick  ;  and,  accompanied  by 
Mr.  Hogg,  went  in  search  of  Mr.  D.,  whom  at  last  they  detected 
just  about  to  step  into  a  coach  on  his  return  to  Glasgow.  ]Mr.  B. 
immediately  attacked  him,  and  beat  him  as  hard  as  he  could,  and 
then  permitted  him  to  take  his  place  in  the  coach,  and  proceed 
home,  which  he  did.  I  have  given  you  a  long  story,  which  I  fear 
you  cannot  feel  the  least  interest  in  ;  but  as  you  take  the  Mngazine, 
you  will  not  be  wholly  indifferent  to  the  fate  of  the  publisher,  whose 
conduct  on  the  late  occasion  is  thought  perfectly  correct ;  the  other 
man  everybody  thinks  has  acted  like  a  fool." 

Nothing  was  left  undone  to  spread  the  fame  and  fear  of  Black- 
wood. Formidable  announcements  of  forthcoming  criticisms  were 
monthly  advertised,  to  keep  expectation  on  the  stretch.  The  very 
titles  of  the  serial  articles  indicated  uncommon  fertility  of  inven- 
tion, and  a  terrible  faculty  for  calling  name.  There  were  artii-les 
on  "The  Cockney  School  of  Poetry,"  on  "The  Pluckless  School  of 
Politics,"  on  "  The  Gormandizing  School  of  Eloquence."  There 
were  letters  to  literary  characters  by  Timothy  Tickler,  by  Freder- 
ick Baron  von  Lauerwinkel,  by  Dr.  OUnthus  Petre,  T.  C.  I>.,  by 

*  EUtckW'iod,  .January  aud  March,  1818. 


LITERATURE. BLACKAVOOd's    MAGAZINE.  189 

Ensign  O'Doherty,  by  MorJecai  Mullion,  nnd  a  host  of  others  too 
numerous  to  mention.  The  variety  and  mystification  thus  produce^ 
undoubtedly  gave  great  additional  zest  to  the  writing;  and  this 
apparently  multitudinous  host  of  contributors  danced  about  the 
victims  of  their  satire  with  a  vivacity  and  gleefulness  which  the 
public  could  not  but  relish  even  when  it  condemned.  xVfter  all, 
and  giving  their  full  weight  to  the  censures  which  were  justly  hi- 
curred  by  many  of  these  compositions,  there  is  much  truth  in  the 
following  remarks,  in  a  vindication  of  itself  prefixed  to  the  ]Maga- 
zine  a  few  years  after  : — "  For  a  series  of  years,  the  Whigs  in  Scot- 
land had  all  the  jokes  to  themselves ;  they  laughed  and  lashed  as 
they  liked  ;  and  while  all  this  was  the  case,  did  anybody  ever  hear 
them  say  that  either  laughing  or  lashing  were  among  the  seven 
deadly  sins  ?  People  said  at  times,  no  doubt,  that  Mr.  Jeifrey  was 
a  more  gentlemanly  Whig  than  Mr.  Brougham;  that  Sydney  Smith 
grinned  more  good  humoredly  than  Sir  James  Mackintosh,  and  so 
forth,  l)ut  all  these  were  satirists,  and,  strange  to  say,  they  all  re- 
joiced in  the  name."  While  I  cannot  agree  with  the  statement 
following  these  remarks,  that  the  only  real  offence  of  Blackwood's 
contributors  was  their  being  Tories,  there  is  no  doubt,  I  tliink, 
that  that  circumstance  greatly  aggravated  their  sins  in  the  eyes  of 
their  opponents.* 

The  faults  in  question  were,  however,  in  themselves  sufficiently 
grave,  and  may  now  be  referred  to,  it  is  hoped,  without  risk  of  re- 
kindling the  old  embers.  The  worst  of  them  undoubtedly,  for 
which  even  "Dr.  Peter  Morris"  could  afterwards  see  no  apology, 
was  the  attack  on  the  venerable  Playfair,  which  api)eared  in  1S18, 
in  the  September  number  of  the  Magazine,  under  the  guise  of  a 
"  Letter  to  the  Rev.  Professor  Laugner,  occasioned  by  his  writing 
in  the  Konigsberg  Review :  by  the  Baron  von  Lauerwinkel."f     In 

•  Insolence  and  personality  have  very  seldom  been  altysethcr  wantins  in  the  viirorous  yonth 
of  journalism,  and  some  of  the  ablest  periodicals  that  have  ever  appeared  have  incunvd  the  most 
censure  in  this  respect.  The  Edinburgh  Ileciew  cannot  by  impartial  judL'es  be  i)ronoiineed  to 
have  been  immaculate.  The  Quarterly  \i  oiien  to  tlie  same  remark;  and  Fruser'n  JI(i(/<ieiiie, 
that  most  philosophic  and  well-conducted  periodical,  fur  some  time  seemed  bent  on  out-doiiis;  the 
early  style  of  Blackwood,  after  its  older  sister  had  subsided  into  propriety  and  self-restraint. 

+  This  mischievous  composition  professed  to  be  a  translation  from  a  German  periodical  (a  lit- 
erary strataj;em,  by  the  way,  which  probably  set  the  examiile  which  Mr.  Carlyle,  nmon^'  others, 
has  turned  to  such  iVcipient  and  etTective  pui'iiose).  and  was  thus  introduced: — "The  Kunii^sljeii; 
Keview,  conilucted  by  the  lute  iiifrenious  M.  Mundwerk,  was  a  few  years  a^o  very  much  admired 
in  (ii-rmany  by  numerous  rcaclcrs.  who  took  deliirht  in  seeinj;  intidel  and  uniiatriotic  opinions 
inaiutained  by  men  of  ackiiowli-dged  w.'t  and  talent,     Su-an^je  as  the  circumstance  may  appear, 


190  MEMOIR   OF   JOHN    'WILSON. 

a  previous  letter  under  the  signature  of  "  Idoloclustes,"  a  strong 
remonstrance  had  been  addressed  to  Dr.  Chalmers  on  his  supjjort 
of  the  Edinhurfjh  lieview^  in  which,  with  great  professions  of  re- 
spect and  admiration  both  for  Chalmers  and  Jettrey,  there  was 
mingled  a  most  oflensive  strain  of  rebuke  on  the  subject  of  infidel 
principles,  which  were  alleged  to  be  characteristic  of  the  Review. 
In  the  pretended  letter  to  Professor  Laugner,  these  charges  Avere 
repeated  with  still  greater  violence  of  language,  and  combined 
with  the  same  professions  of  regret  and  esteem.  The  excellent 
Professor  of  Natural  Philosophy  was  broadly  accused  of  having 
turned  his  back  on  the  faith  which  he  once  preached,*  and  allied 
himself  with  a  band  of  unprincipled  wits  and  insidious  infidels. 
The  author  of  both  these  letters  was  Mr.  Lockhart,  and  they  are 
striking  specimens  of  that  unpleasant  power  which  led  his  own 
familiar  friends  to  attribute  to  him,  in  their  allegorical  description, 
the  character  of  the  Scorjyion.  For  calm,  concentrated  sting  it 
would  be  haid  to  find  six  pages  to  match  the  Letter  of  the  Baron 
Lauerwinkel.f  The  very  natural  indignation  excited  by  this  artack 
on  one  of  the  most  amiable  and  eminent  men  of  whom  Edinburgh 
could  then  boast,  attained  its  climax  in  the  publication  of  a  pam- 
phlet, called  JTi/pocrisi/  unveiled  and  Ccdionni/  detected,  in  a  Re- 
vieic  of  Blackwood^s  Mayazine.  The  author  wielded  a  po\\erfu] 
pen,  and  fixing  on  Wilson  and  Lockhart  as  the  special  objects  of 
his  criticism,  accused  them  both  in  very  unvarnished  terms  of  con- 
duct disgraceful  to  men  of  letters  and  gentlemen.  His  own  style, 
indeed,  was  not  the  most  choice,  his  elaborate  perio<ls  being  thickly 
strewed  with  all  the  harshest  epithets  to  be  found  in  the  dictionary. 

it  Is  nevertheless  true  that  this  journal  numbered  among  its  supporters  several  clergj'mon  of  the 
Lutheran  Church.  One  of  these  was  the  late  celebrated  preacher,  Ilammerschlag  (Dr.  Chalmers 
was  here  pointed  at),  another  w.as  Professor  Laugner  of  the  University  of  Konigsberg.  The  in- 
dignation of  the  zealous  and  worthy  Baron  von  Lauerwinkel  was  excited,"  <fec. 

*  Professor  Playfair  was  parish  minister  of  LifF  and  Bervie  from  1773  to  1TS2.  He  became 
assistant  to  Professor  Ferguson  in  ITSo,  and  in  1S()5  resigned  the  chair  of  Mathematics  for  that 
of  Natural  Philosophy,  which  he  occupied  till  his  death,  in  1S19. 

t  Much  a.-i  these  letters  were  to  be  condemned,  however,  it  is  but  fair  to  observe  that  the  ex- 
ample had  been  shown  on  the  other  side.  A  voluminous  and  vehement  writer,  Cafriiiiix.  alre.ady 
referred  to.  had  inflicted  not  less  than  five  i)ainphlets  on  the  public,  addressed  to  Dr.  M'Crie  and 
Dr.  .\n<lre»-  Thomson  on  their  sinful  alliance  with  Bhtckwood'H  Jf(i(/iiziiie.  In  thuinU-.-ing  sen- 
tences, garnished  with  plentiful  texts  of  Scripture,  he  calls  upon  them  to  "remember  the  fate  of 
that  priest  who  associated  himse.'f  with  the  infidel  compilers  of  the  Encyctopedie,"'  and  hopes  that 
no  priesi  in  this  country  is  williu.;  to  let  it  be  supi)osed  that  he  receives  wages  from  a  till  that  is 
replenished  by  the  dissemination  of  blasi<hemy.  Similar  remonstrances  ami  insinuations  were 
very  frequently  levelled  airainst  Dr.  Brewster;  and  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  such  attacks  wer» 
CiUcuUitcd  to  provoke  retali-itiou. 


Lrj'EKATURE, BLACKWOOd's    MAGAZINIC.  101 

But  much  of  his  censure  ^Yent  home  to  the  mark,  and  he  pledged 
himself,  in  conchision,  if  the  subjects  of  his  criticism  did  not  amend 
their  ways,  to  return  to  the  charge  "  with  less  reserve,  and  more 
personal  effect."*  Who  the  author  of  this  philippic  was  remained 
a  secret,  but  there  is  now  no  reason  to  doubt  that  he  was  himself 
a  well-known  member  of  the  legal  body.  His  allusions  to  Wilson 
and  Lockhart  were  too  pointed  to  be  passed  without  notice,  and 
both  sought  redress  in  the  mode  then  considered  necessary  for  the 
vindication  of  the  character  of  gentlemen.  The  author  of  tlie 
l^amphlet  received  these  communications  as  might  have  been  ex- 
])ected,  he  declined  to  reveal  his  identity,  but  printed  the  corres- 
pondence.! 

*  In  furtherance  of  this  purpose  he  annonnced  as  preparinir  for  publication  "A  Letter  to  the 
Dean  and  F.iculty  of  Advocates  on  the  propriety  of  expelling  the  Lw)pard  and  tho  Scorpion  from 
that  hitherto  respectable  body  " 

t  From  the  ScoUfinmi,  Saturday,  October  24,  1818: 

"  To  the  Author  of  Ifypocrixij  Unveiled. 

"  StK  : — As  it  is  no  jiart  of  a  manly  disposition  to  use  insulting  epithets  to  an  unknown  enemy, 
who  may  i)crhnps  have  resolved  to  remain  unknown,  I  shall  not,  at  present,  bestow  any  upon 
you.  So  long  as  you  remain  concealed  you  are  a  nonentity ;  and  any  insults  offered  by  me  to  a 
person  in  Uiat  si'uation  might  probably  not  be  felt  to  carrj-  with  them  any  degradation  to  him, 
anil  certainly  would  not  be  felt  as  conferring  any  triumph  upon  me.  It  is  probable,  however, 
that  yon  will  come  forward  from  your  concealment,  when  you  feel  that  you  <'annot  continue  iu 
it  without  the  consciousness  of  cowardice.  I  therefore  requestyour  name  and  address,  that  I  may 
send  a  friend  to  you  to  deliver  my  opinion  of  your  character,  and  to  settle  time  and  place  for  a 
meeting,  at  which  1  may  exact  satisfaction  from  you  for  the  public  insults  you  have  offered  to  mo, 

"53  Queen  Stueet,  Friday.^  Oct.  28,  1818."  "John  Wils'^n. 

"  To  the  Author  of  Hypocriiiy  I'tweiled. 

"Sib: — I  have  no  wish  to  apply  epithets  of  insult  to  you  till  I  know  who  you  are.  If  yon 
sup|iose  yourself  to  have  any  claim  to  the  character  of  a  gentleman,  you  will  take  care  that  I  he 
not  long  without  this  knowledge.     I  remain,  sir,  your  obedient  servant, 

"23  Maitland  Stkeet,  Thnrsday,  Oct.  22,  ISIS."  "J.  Q.  Lockhabt. 

"  To  John  Wilson,  Esq.,  Advocate. 

"  Fridiii/.  2.3<f  Octob»r. 

"Sir: — The  note  which  I  understand  to  have  been  forwarded  to  you  by  my  publisher,  will 
have  explained  why  I  did  not  receive  yonr  comiiiunieatiiin  till  within  these  few  hours. 

"If  you  be  not  a  ])iincii)al  conductor  or  supporter  of  Bldckwood'n  Magazine,  you  have  no 
reason  for  addressing  inc.  If  you  be  not  the  author  or  furnisher  of  materials  for  an  attack  ou 
Mr.  M'Corniick,  which  you  yourself  stated  to  be  highly  unjustifinhle,  and  of  which  yon  denied 
all  knowledge  upon  your  honor ;  if  you  be  not  the  author  of  a  most  abusive  attack  '^n  your 
friend,  Mr.  Wordsworth;  if  you  did  not,  by  an  unfounded  story,  prevail  with  Mr  Ulatkwood's 
former  editors  to  insert  that  attack;  if  you  be  not  the  secret  traducer  of  Mr.  Playfair,  Mr.  Ila/.- 
litt,  and  Mr.  Coleridge;  if  you  be  not  the  wanton  and  cruel  reviler  of  those  gentlemen  nameil 
in  my  pamphlet,  with  whom  you  h.ad  lived  in  habits  of  frienilship;  if  you  be  not  one  of  the 
principal  vomitories  of  that  calumnious  and  malignant  abuse  which  has,  through  the  medium  of 
Bldckwood's  Magazine,  been  poun^d  out  on  all  that  is  elevated,  worthy,  or  estimable  ;  if  yon  be 
not  the  writer  of  one  or  other  of  the  letters  addressed  in  the  name  of  Z.  to  Mr.  Leigh  Hunt, and 
if  you  do  not  take  shelter  under  a  quotation  from  Junius,  and  submit  to  be  publicly  stigmatized 
by  him  as  a  coward  and  a  scoundrel,— then  you  have  nothing'  to  say  to  me,  for  I  speak  i>Mly  <if  thu 
writer  or  wiiu-rs  who  have  committed  these  enormities.     But  if  all  or  any  of  these  things  apply 


192  MLMOIK    OF   JOUX    WiLSuX. 

AVhcn  3Ir.  Luckliurt  found  that  the  autlior  woukl  not  reveal 
himself,  he  appears  to  have  concerned  liimself  no  more  about  the 
matter,  but  to  have  reheved  liis  feelings  by  caricaturing  all  the 
parties  concerned  in  his  friend's  literary  '•'•  Ledger P  "Tlie  Leop- 
ard" and  "The  Scorpion,"  as  drawn  in  the  '•'•Ledger^''  will  be  found 
on  pages  165,  1G9. 

The  following  admirable  letter,  addressed  at  this  time  to  my 
fiither,  by  his  friend  the  Rev.  Robert  Morehead,*  seems,  in  spite  of 
its  length,  to  be  worthy  of  insertion  here.  I  have  no  doubt  it  pro- 
duced a  considerable  impression  on  his  mind,  though  at  the  time  his 
indignation  at  the  charges  of  the  pamphleteer  made  him  rather  im- 
patient of  remonstrance : — 


to  yoii,  in  that  case  you  have  lost  every  claim  to  the  character  of  a  gentleman,  and  have  no  ri-^nl 
irhatjjoever  to  demaud  that  satisfaction  which  is  due  only  to  one  who  has  been  unjustly  ac- 
cused. 

"The  cause,  besides,  in  which  I  have  engaged  is  a  public  one;  it  is  that  of  right  feeling  against 
all  that  is  vile,  treacherous,  and  malignant.  My  vocation  is  not  ended ;  I  have  pledged  myself  to 
the  public  to  watch  your  proceedings,  and,  if  occasion  shall  require,  to  give  a  more  ample  exposi- 
tion of  your  conduct  and  character — to  inflict  a  more  signal  chastisement  on  your  crimes.  This 
pledge  lihiiU  he  redeemed. 

"Do  not  think  that  I  sliall  be  deterred,  by  any  threat,  from  discharging  the  duty  I  have  thus 
imposed  im  myselii  or  that  I  shall  be  so  weak  as,  by  a  premature  avowal  of  my  name,  to  dei)rive 
myself  iif  the  means. 

•'  Prove  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  public  that  the  charges  which  I  have  made  are  imfounded.  or 
that  they  ilo  not  apply  to  you ;  or,  as  you  yourself  ask  of  Mj-.  Hunt : — '  Confess  that  ycu  have  done 
wrong. — make  a  clean  breast  of  it, — beg  pardon  of  your  God  and  of  your  country  for  the  iniquity 
of  your  polluted  pen, — and  the  last  to  add  one  pang  to  the  secret  throbbingj  of  a  contrite  spirit,' 
the  first  to  meet  your  challenge,  if  then  renewed,  shall  be,  sir,  your,  etc., 

"Tub  Author  op  'Hypocetsy  Unveiled.' 

"  P.  S. — As  Mr.  Lockhart  obviously  acts  in  concert  with  yourself,  I  have  made  the  same  answer 
to  him  which  I  now  make  to  )-ou." 

*  This  estimable  man  was  for  many  years  an  Episcopalian  clergyman  in  Edinburgh.  He  waa 
presented  to  the  rectory  of  Kasington,  Yorkshire,  in  1S32,  and  died  there  in  December,  1S42. 

Mr.  Jlorehead,  as  may  be  gathered  from  the  above  letter,  was  a  dear  friend  of  my  father's,  but 
shortly  after  this  date  he  became  editor  of  ConsUMe's  Jfur/iieiyie;  and  it  is  to  be  regretted  that, 
"in  that  lamentable  madness  of  the  time  which  drove  high-minded  and  honorable  men  from  their 
propriety,"  my  father,  by  the  unscrupulous  liberty  of  his  pen  in  Blackwood's  Magazine^  gave 
offence  to  .Mr.  Morche.ad,  who,  justly  displeased,  wrote  an  indignant  letter  to  him.  begging  that 
personal  allusions  should  cease  as  far  as  he  was  concerned,  and  promising  that,  on  his  part,  he 
should  abstain  from  any  allusion  to  the  Professor  in  his  Magazine.  I  am  happy  to  be  able  to  say 
the  terms  of  i>eace  were  obsirved.  as  their  friemlship  remained  unbroken.  A  notice  of  .Mr.  More- 
head  is  made  a  dozen  ye.ars  later  in  a  Nocten.  which  exhibits  my  father's  real  estimate  of  the  author 
oi Dialoyiies  oil  Natiuul  and  Revealed  lieligion. 

""  Shepherd. — I  love  that  man." 

"■  Xort/i. — So  do  I,  James,  and  so  do  all  that  know  him  personally — his  talents,  his  genius,  and, 
betu-r  than  both,  his  truly  Christian  character,  mild  and  pure." 

^^  Sfiep/ierd. — And  also  bricht.'' 

"A'ortA. — Yes,  bright : 

'  In  wit  a  man — simplicity  a  child.' " 
—\octe.s.  May,  1S30. 


LITEKATUKE. BLACKWOOD's    MAOAZINP:.  193 

"  Sunday  Erening. 

"My  dear  Wilsox  : — I  trust  you  will  forgive  iiie  iur  iiiLlrcssiiif^ 
you  on  a  subject  which  has  been  running  in  my  head  all  week,  and 
has  incapacitated  me,  I  believe,  from  reailing  or  writing,  for  when- 
ever I  attempted  eilhei',  your  image,  or  the  image  of  some  other 
person  or  thing  coimected  with  Blackwood's  Magazine^  immedi- 
ately took  its  stati(jn  in  my  brain,  and  prevented  any  other  idea 
from  obtaining  an  entrance. 

"  I  have  frequently  thought  of  writing  to  you,  yet  I  have  always 
drawn  back,  from  an  aversion  to  ap])ear  to  be  giving  advice  or 
intermeddling  in  an  affair  with  which  I  h.ive  nothing  to  do,  separate 
from  the  interest  which  every  one  who  knows  you  must  take  in 
you.  I  hear,  however,  that  you  have  called  on  me  to-day,  and  I 
cannot  any  longer  I'efrain  from  saying  something  to  you,  though 
perhaps  it  may  be  rather  incoherent,  on  the  impleasant  circumstan- 
ces of  the  last  week.  That  blame  must  attach  to  you  and  your 
friend  Lockhart  for  the  delinquencies  of  JBlacJaoooiV s  Magazine  I 
am  afraid  must  be  admitted  ;  but  even  if  the  blame  should  not  go 
the  full  length  of  the  accusations  which  are  made  against  you,  I 
have  myself  too  distinct  a  concei)tion  of  the  hazards  accompanying 
mysterious  and  secret  composition,  and  the  temptations  which  it 
throws  in  the  way  of  men  of  imagination  and  genius  (much  inferior 
to  either  of  yours),  that  I  can  conceive,  in  the  heat  of  writing,  your 
trespassing  very  much  upon  the  limits  of  propriety  or  a  due  re- 
gard for  the  common  courtesies  and  regulations  of  social  life.  As 
it  is  impossible,  too,  for  another  person  to  enter  into  all  the  feelings 
which  may  have  actuated  you  on  diflerent  occasions,  I  can  imagine 
that  you  may  have  done  what  you  are  stated  to  have  done,  with- 
out deserving  those  imputations  which  have  been  thrown  upon 
you.  Indeed  I  cannot,  for  my  own  part,  think  any  thing  very  bad 
of  you.  You  have  always  appeared  to  me  a  person  of  high  and 
noble  character,  and  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  view  you  in  any 
other  light.  I  am  not  at  all,  however,  surprised  that  torrents  of 
abuse  should  be  thrown  upon  you,  both  in  private  and  public,  and 
1  cannot  say  that  the  world  is  unjust  in  this  retaliation. 

"The  person  who  has  written  the  anonymous  letter  to  you  does 
not  act  ])erhaps  in  the  most  chivalrous  manner  possible,  not  to  leti 
himself  \n\  known  ;  but  I  rather  think  he  is  in  the  right,  and  us  I 
am  one  of  those  people  who  are  ilispused  to  believe  all  things,  I 


194  MEMOIlt    OF    .lOIIN    WILSON. 

imagine  he  i>  really  what  he  gives  himself  out  to  be — a  person  un- 
connec'led  with  the  matters  in  dispute,  and  determined,  from  a  sense 
of  justice,  to  defend  what  he  thinks  the  cause  of  violated  public 
tranquillity. 

"  If  he  had  been  himself  a  party,  he  would  have  written  with 
more  bitterness,  and  been  less  disposed  to  make  stupid  quotations. 
All  this,  however,  ray  dear  Wilson,  unpleasant  as  it  is  at  present, 
may  be  attended  with  a  very  excellent  result,  if  you  will  allow  it  to 
be  so.  Both  you  nnd  Lockhart  are,  I  think,  designed  for  much 
higher  things  than  the  game  you  are  playing.  I  believe  that,  with 
the  wantonness  of  youth  and  conscious  power  about  you,  which 
you  do  not  care  much  how  you  exhibit,  you  are  really  desirous  of 
doing  good ;  and  tliat  you  are  anxious  to  root  out  of  the  world 
false  sentiments  in  politics  and  religion,  with  a  perfect  unconcern 
w'ho  may  entertain  them.  This  is  the  best  view  to  take  of  you ; 
and  in  this  kind  of  crusade,  you  are  heedless  wdiat  shock  you  may 
give  to  individuals,  Avhose  feelings  yet  deserve  to  be  consulted,  and 
with  whom  the  public  will,  in  general,  take  part.  I  really  think 
nothing  less  than  a  Divine  commission,  such  as  Joshua  received  to 
extirpate  the  Canaanites,  could  justify  the  way  in  which  you  are 
throwing  around  you  poisoned  an-ows  against  those  whom  you  sur- 
mise to  be  infidels.  When  you  go  beyond  a  certain  mark,  you  lose 
your  aim.  While  with  all  the  eloquence  that  you  can  mus- 
ter, you  will  never  persuade  the  reasonable  part  of  the  na- 
tion that  the  Edinburgh  Review  has  for  its  insidious,  skulking 
design  to  make  as  many  Jacol)ins  and  infidels  as  it  can,  I  suppose 
the  character  of  that  jtublication  is  pretty  well  understood.  No- 
body takes  it  up  in  the  notion  that  they  will  receive  religious  in 
struction  from  it,  or  that  the  writers  are  very  competent  to  give  it ; 
but  nobody  of  sense  supposes,  whatever  slips  it  may  sometimes 
have  made,  that  its  object  and  secret  view  is  to  pull  down  Christi. 
anity ;  and  particularly,  no  one  who  knows  Mr.  Playfair  conceives 
that  this  is  one  of  his  darling  contemplations  and  schemes,  whatever 
may  be  his  opinions  upon  the  subject  of  Revelation,  which  nobody 
has  any  business  to  rake  out.  I  believe  the  only  slip  he  is  su]>posed 
to  have  committed  in  the  Review,  was  something  on  the  subject  of 
miracles;  and  what  he  says  is,  I  imagine,  defensible  enough,  and 
reconcilable  to  a  belief  in  Christianity.  Then  as  to  politics,  although 
here,  too,  there  may  be  various  offences,  yet  I  believe  the  general 


LITKKATUKE. BLACKWOOd's    MAGAZINE.  105 

drift  of  the  ])olitics  of  the  Edinburgh  Review  is  felt  l)y  the  nation 
to  ]i:ive  on  the  whole  Ji  good  tendency.  If  you  and  your  friend  per- 
sist in  w  riling  in  Blackwuod' s  Magazine^  I  exhoi-t  you  strenuously 
to  make  that  Magazine  what  you  are  capable  of  making  it ;  to  take 
the  hint  which  has  been  given  you;  to  take  warning  from  the  awk- 
ward perplexities  in  which  it  has  involved  you,  and  from  whicli  it 
would  be  idle  to  attempt  to  extricate  yourselves  entirely,  and  hence- 
forth to  avoid  unhandsome  personalities.  I  do  not  say,  spare  the 
Edinburgh  Review  ;  on  the  contrary,  where  you  find  in  it  any  sen- 
timent that  you  think  militating  either  against  the  Constitution  or 
Christianity,  by  all  means  expose  it ;  but  do  not  impute  motives  to 
the  writers  which  you  cannot  think  exist.  Your  readers  will  go 
more  thoroughly  along  with  you  if  you  are  tpmperate,  and  give 
that  Review  the  credit  which  it  deserves,  and  sjjcak  of  its  authors 
rather  as  men  who  do  not  see  the  whole  truth,  than  as  men  who 
are  wittingly  blind.  If  you  cannot  get  the  regulation  of  that  Mag- 
azine into  your  own  hands,  but  must  have  your  writings  coupled 
with  party  politics  and  personalities,  which  you  yourselves  disap- 
prove of,  I  really  think,  for  your  own  credit,  you  should  have 
nothing  to  do  with  it ;  for  there  is  not  a  piece  of  abomination  in 
the  Magazine  -which  will  not  be  fathered  upon  one  or  other  of  you ; 
and  neither  Christianity  nor  Toryism  is  at  present  in  so  low  a  state 
that  there  is  any  necessity  to  suffer  martyrdom." 

The  following  letter  from  my  father  about  the  same  time  appears 
to  have  been  addressed  to  Mr.  Morehead,  in  reference  to  a  suspicion 
of  Mr.  Macvey  Napier  having  been  the  author  of  the  pamphlet. 
It  betrays  the  keenness  of  his  feelings  on  the  subject : — 

"  53  Queen  Street, 
Half -past  Ten,  Wedntsilay,   1817. 

"My  dear  Sir  : — Your  message  to  me  from  Mr.  Napier  would 
have  been  perfectly  satisfactory,  even  had  I  had  any  suspicion  thrD 
he  was  the  author  of  the  pamjjhlet.  But  knowing  Mr.  Napier  to 
be  a  geutiemau  and  a  man  of  education,  I  could  not  have  suspected 
him  to  be  a  blackguard  and  a  villain.  Had  public  rumor  forced  me 
at  any  time  to  ask  him  if  he  Avas  the  author  of  that  iianiphlet,  the 
question  would  have  been  accompanied  with  an  anijile  apology  lor 
putiing  it,  for,  without  that,  llie  question   would  itself  have   been 


190  MEMOIR   OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

an  insult.  Assure  Mr.  Napier  of  this,  and  that  I  am  sorry  he  should 
have  been  put  under  the  necessity  by  disagreeable  and  stupid 
rumor  of  diso%\niing  that  of  which  I  know  his  nature  to  be  inca- 
pable. Had  I  suspected  Mr.  Xapier,  and  yet  "alluded"  to  him  us 
the  object  of  my  suspicion,  I  should  have  acted  like  an  idiot  and  a 
coward.  In  a  case  like  this,  suspicion  is  not  to  be  so  intimated. 
Should  I  ever  suspect  any  man,  I  will  send  with  privacy  a  friend  to 
him ;  he  may  be  a  man  of  some  nerve,  and  if  ever  he  avows  himself 
he  will  require  them  all.  My  affection  and  friendship  for  you  never 
can  suffer  any  abatement.  But  may  I  gently  say  to  you,  tins  villa- 
nous  and  lying  pamphlet  has  been  read  by  you  with  feelings,  and 
has  left  on  your  mmd  an  impression,  which  I  did  not  imagine  such 
a  publication  could  have  created  in  you  towards  your  very  attached 
friend, 

"J.  Wilson." 

Not  the  least  of  the  ill  results  of  that  unhappy  letter  of  the 
Baron  Lauerwinkel  was  the  interruption  of  the  friendly  relation 
between  my  father  and  Jeffrey.  The  latter  conveyed  his  sentiments 
on  the  subject  in  these  manly  and  honorable  terms : — 

"Craigceook  House,  I3th  October,  1S18. 

"  Mt  dear  Sir  : — I  take  the  liberty  of  enclosing  a  draft  for  a 
very  inconsiderable  sum,  which  is  the  remuneration  our  publisher 
enables  me  to  make  for  your  valuable  contribution  to  the  last  num- 
ber of  the  Edlnbur(fh  Ilt^vleic;  and  though  nobody  can  know  better 
than  I  do,  that  nothing  was  less  in  your  contemplation  in  writhig 
that  article,  it  is  a  consequence  to  which  you  must  resign  yourself, 
as  all  our  other  regular  contributors  have  done  before  you. 

"  And  now,  having  acquitted  myself  of  the  awkward  part  of  my 
office  with  my  usual  awkwardness,  I  should  proceed  to  talk  to  you 
of  further  contributions,  and  ...  to  save  editorial  disquisition  on 
the  best  style  of  composition  for  such  a  journal,  ii'  I  had  not  a  still 
more  awkward  and  far  more  j>ainful  subject  to  discuss  in  the  first 
place. 

"  You  are  said  to  be  a  principal  writer  in,  and  a  great  director 
and  active  supporter  of  Blackwood's  Edinburgh  Magazine.  In  the 
last  number  of  that  work  there  is  an  attack  upon  my  excellent 
friond  Mr.  Playfaii-,  in  my  jiidgnu-nt  so  unhandsome  and  uncandid. 


LIIEKATUKE. BLACKWOOD's    MAGAZINE.  197 

t'l'iti  f  really  cannot  consent  either  to  ask  or  accept  of  favors  from 
any  one  who  is  aiding  or  assisting  in  such  a  publication. 

"  I  have  not  the  least  idea  that  you  had  any  concern  in  the  com- 
position of  that  particular  paper,  and  perhaps  I  have  been  misin- 
formed as  to  the  nature  and  extent  of  your  connection  with  the 
work  in  general.  But  if  it  be  as  I  supposed,  and  if  you  still  profess 
to  take  the  same  interest  in  that  Magazine,  I  do  not  see  that  we  can 
possibly  co-operate  in  any  other  publication. 

"  I  have  no  right,  certainly,  and  I  am  sure  I  have  no  intention  to 
rebuke  you  for  any  opinions  you  may  entertain,  or  any  views  you 
may  have  formed  of  the  proper  way  of  expressing  them  ;  but  if 
you  think  the  scope  and  strain  of  the  paper  to  which  I  allude  in  any 
degree  justifiable,  I  can  only  say  that  your  notions  diifer  so  widely 
from  mine,  that  it  is  better  that  we  should  have  no  occasion  to  dis- 
cuss them.  To  me,  I  confess,  it  appears  that  the  imputations  it 
contains  are  as  malignant  as  they  are  false;  and  having  openly- 
applied  these  epithets  to  them,  whenever  I  have  had  occasion  to 
speak  on  the  subject,  I  flatter  myself  that  I  do  not  violate  the 
courtesy  which  I  unfeignedly  wish  to  observe  towards  you,  or  act 
unsuitably  with  the  regard  which  I  hope  always  to  entertain  for  you, 
if  I  plainly  repeat  them  here,  as  the  grounds  of  a  statement  with 
which  no  light  considerations  could  have  induced  me  to  trouble  you. 

"  I  say,  then,  that  it  is  false  that  it  is  one  of  the  principal  objects, 
or  any  object  at  all,  of  the  Edinburgh  Review  to  discredit  religion, 
or  promote  the  cause  of  infidelity.  I  who  have  conducted  the  work 
for  nearly  fifteen  years  should  know  something  of  its  objects,  and 
I  declare  to  you,  upon  my  honor,  that  nothing  with  that  tendency 
lias  ever  been  inserted  without  its  being  followed  with  sincere 
regret,  both  on  my  part  and  on  that  of  all  who  have  any  permanent 
connection  with  the  work.  That  expressions  of  a  light  and  indec- 
orous nature  have  sometimes  escaped  us  in  the  hurry  of  composi- 
tion, and  that,  in  exposing  the  excesses  of  bigotry  and  intolerance, 
a  tone  of  too  great  levity  has  been  sometimes  employed,  I  am  most 
ready  with  all  humility  to  acknowledge ;  but  that  any  thing  was 
ever  bespoken  or  written  by  the  regular  supporters  of  the  work, 
or  admitted,  except  by  inadvertence,  with  a  view  to  discredit  the 
truth  of  religion,  I  most  positively  deny,  and  that  it  is  no  part  of 
its  object  to  do  so,  I  thiidi  must  be  felt  l>y  every  one  of  its  caudi\l 
readers. 


19S  mi:m(-»iu  of  jous  wit.sux. 

"In  tlie  S'ocond  place,  I  say  it  is  false  that  ^[r.  P.  lent  his  support 
to  the  Mcview  in  order  to  give  credit  and  currency  to  its  alleged 
infidel  principles. 

"And,  finally,  it  is  false  that  the  writings  which  he  has  contributed 
to  it  have  had  any  tendency  to  supi)ort  those  principles,  or  are  in- 
tended to  counteract  the  lessons  which  he  once  taught  from  the 
pulpit." 

It  is  much  to  be  regretted  that  my  fathers  reply  to  this  letter  is 
not  extant.  What  it  may  have  been  can  only  be  conjectured.  I 
can  have  no  doubt  that  he  would  not  attempt  to  justify  the  malig- 
nant article.  But  he  was  not  a  man  to  abandon  his  associates  even 
when  he  disagreed  with  them.  He  had  cast  in  his  lot  with  JBlack- 
trood  and  its  principles,  and  was  resolved  to  stand  by  them  at  all 
hazards. 


CILVPTER  IX. 

ANN     STREET. ilORAL     rniLOSOPUT    CHAIR. 

1820. 

Ax  eventful  life  seldom  falls  to  the  lot  of  the  man  of  letters.  His 
vicissitudes  and  excitements  are  for  the  most  part  confined  to  an 
arena  in  which  he  figures  little  before  the  pubhc  gaze.  In  this 
sense  Wilson's  life  was  uneventful ;  but  the  constitution  of  his  na- 
ture, both  physical  and  mental,  made  it  impossible  that  it  should 
ever  become  uninteresting  or  monotonous.  It  may  be  said  that  lie 
threw  himself  into  the  very  heart  of  existence,  and  found  in  the 
lowliest  things  on  earth  a  hidden  virtue  that  made  them  cease  to  be 
\  ulgar  in  his  eyes.  For  fundamentally,  though  that  I  know  is  not 
the  general  oj)inion,  he  was  as  much  a  philosoi)her  as  a  poet,  and 
had  that  true  instinct,  that  electric  rapidity  of  glance,  that  enables 
a  man  to  penetrate  through  the  forms  of  things  to  their  real  mean- 
ing and  essence.  xVnd  when  free  from  the  bias  of  passion  or  preju- 
dice, his  judgment  was  most  accurate.  Cai)rice  or  change  in  regard 
to  p'.inctplcs,  ur  jiersoiis,  or  tastes,  was    no  part  of  his  character. 


ANN    STllEET.  190 

Faults  of  temper  and  intolerance  sometimes  gin  red  forth,  finding 
utterance,  it  might  be,  both  violent  and  unreasonable.  Thus  his 
highly-strung  nervous  organization  made  him  keenly  alive  to  all 
outward  impressions,  loud  laughter,  sudden  noises,  rudeness,  affec- 
tation, and  those  offences  against  minor  morals  that  are  generally 
regarded  with  indifference  or  passing  disgusi,  affected  him  painfully; 
and  If  but  for  a  short  time  exposed  to  any  such  annoyances,  no  self- 
control  prevented  Inin  from  giving  expression  to  his  feelings.  But 
such  outbursts,  whether  manifested  in  spoken  or  written  words, 
were  as  summer  storms,  that  leave  the  air  purer  and  the  sky  brighter 
than  before.  He  was,  in  fact,  too  large  a  man  to  be  unamiable. 
His  natural  temper  was,  in  mature  life,  as  it  had  been  in  boyhood 
and  youth,  sweet  and  sunny,  and,  with  all  his  enjoyment  of  activity 
and  excitement,  he  never  liked  any  company  half  so  well  as  that 
which  he  found  at  his  own  fireside.  To  that  quiet  and  simple  home, 
in  which  his  happiness  was  summed  up,  Ave  now  turn  for  a  short 
time. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  winter  of  1819,  my  father,  with  his  wife 
and  children,  now  five  in  number,  two  boys  and  tliree  girls,*  left 
his  mother's  house,  53  Queen  street,  and  set  up  his  household  god? 
in  a  small  and  somewhat  inconvenient  house  in  Ann  street  (No.  20) 
This  little  street,  which  forms  the  culminating  point  of  the  suburb 
of  Stockbridge,  was  at  that  time  quite  "out  of  town,"  and  is  still 
a  secluded  place,  overshadowed  by  the  tall  houses  of  Eton  terrace 
and  Clarendon  Crescent.  In  the  literary  "  Ledger,"  already  referred 
to,  which  contains  all  sorts  of  memoranda  in  my  father's  handwriting, 
there  is  a  page  taken  up  with  an  estimate  of  the  cost  of  furniture 
for  dining-room,  sitting-room,  nursery,  servants'  room,  and  kitchen, 
making  uj)  a  total  of  £195,  with  the  triumjjhant  query  at  the  end, 
in  a  bold  hand,  "Could  it  be  less  ?"  Truly,  I  think  not.  This  little 
entry  throws  an  interesting  light  on  the  circumstances  of  this  de- 
,  voted  pair,  who,  eight  years  previously,  had  started  in  life  so  dif- 
ferently under  the  prosperous  roof-tree  of  Ellerny.  But  the  limita- 
tion of  tlieir  resources  had,  from  the  beginning,  brought  witli  it 
neitlier  regret  nor  despondency,  and  now  that  they  were  for  the 
first  time  fairly  facing  the  cares  of  life,  they  took  up  the  burden 
with  hope  and  cheerfulness.     My  father  felt  strong  in  his  own  pow- 

•  Tlu'ir  names,  in  the  order  of  their  ages,  were  as  follows: — .John,  born  A|)ril,  1S12;  Margaret 
July,1813;  Mary,  August,  1S14 ;  Blair,  Ajiril,  ISlC;  Jano  Euiily,  January,  Isl 7. 


200  MEMOIR   OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

ers  of  work,  and  his  deep  nflection  for  his  wife  and  children  was  a 
mighty  stiinuhis  to  exertion.  My  mothei*,  on  the  other  hand,  along 
with  a  singidar  sweetness  of  disposition,  possessed  great  jtrndence 
and  force  of  character ;  she  entered,  as  her  letters  indicate,  into  all 
that  concerned  her  hushand  with  wife-like  zeal,  and  her  sympath'" 
and  counsel  were  appreciated  by  him  above  all  else  that  the  wc 
could  bestow. 

In  withdi  awing  from  the  more  fashionable  part  of  Edinburgh, 
they  did  not,  however,  by  any  means  exclude  themselves  from  the 
pleasures  of  social  intercourse  with  the  world.  In  Ann  street  tliey 
found  a  pleasant  little  community  that  made  residence  there  far 
from  distasteful ;  the  seclusion  of  the  locality  made  it  then,  as  it 
seems  still  to  be,  rather  a  favorite  quarter  with  literary  men  and 
artists.  The  old  mansion  of  St.  Bernard's,  the  property  and  dwel- 
ling-house of  Sir  Henry  Raeburn  (the  glory  of  Scotland's  portrait- 
painters)  offered  them  its  hospitality  and  kindly  intercourse.  No 
one  can  forget  how,  in  the  circle  of  his  own  fjiinily,  that  dignified 
old  gentleman  stood,  himself  a  very  picture,  his  fine  intellectual 
countenance  lightened  by  eyes  most  expressive,  whose  lambent  gloAV 
gave  to  his  face  that  inward  look  of  soul  he  knew  so  well  to  impart 
to  his  own  unsurpassed  portraits.  Genius  shed  its  peculiar  beauty 
over  his  aspect,  yet  memory  loves  more  than  aught  else  the  recol- 
lections of  the  benevolent  heart  that  lent  to  his  manner  a  grace  of 
kindliness  as  sincere  as  it  was  delightful.  The  place  in  Scottish  art 
which  he  had  so  long  occupied  -without  a  fellow  was  soon  to  become 
vacant.  But  a  worthy  successor  was  at  that  time  following  bis 
footsteps  to  fame. 

Sir  John  Watson  Gordon  lived  Avith  his  fiither  (then  Captain, 
afterwards  Admiral  Watson)  and  a  pleasant  group  of  brothers  and 
sisters,  in  the  house  adjoining  that  of  Professor  Wilson,  in  whom 
this  rising  artist  found  a  warm  and  kind  patron.  Not  a  few  of  his 
early  pictures  were  painted  under  the  encouragement  and  advice  of 
his  genial  friend.  Almost  the  first  subject  that  brought  liira  into 
prominent  comparison  with  the  best  English  paniters  of  the  day 
was  a  portrait  of  my  sister,  when  seven  years  of  age — a  beautifully 
colored  and  poetically  conceived  ])icture.  This  gentleman  has  long 
since  reaped  the  reward  of  his  industry  and  talent,  and  now  wears 
the  honor  of  knighthood,  along  with  the  important  position  of 
President  of  the  Royal  Scottish  Academy,  continuing  still,  from 


ANN    STKEET.  201 

time  to  tirao.  to  give  evidence  to  the  worlil,  l)y  tlie  ad niiraUc  vigor 
and  irutiiful  ipdividuality  of  his  portraits,  that  liis  eminence  is  in- 
creasing with  his  years. 

Another  ilhistrious  name  is  to  he  numbered  in  that  coterie  of 
artists.  William  Allan  (who  also  attained  the  lionor  of  knighthood 
and  presidentship)  was  a  frequent  guest  in  my  father's  house.  He 
had  not  long  returned  from  a  residence  of  some  duration  in  the 
East.  His  extended  travel  and  fresh  experience  of  foreign  lands, 
made  his  society  much  sought  after.  He  had  the  advantage  of  au 
intimate  friendship  with  Sir  Walter  Scott,  in  itself  an  introduction 
to  intercourse  with  the  best  people  of  the  time.  Mr.  Allan  was  a 
man  whose  intelligence,  power  of  observation,  quaint  humor,  gentle 
and  agreeable  manners,  made  him  welcome  to  all.  Many  were  tlie 
pleasant  reiMiions  that  took  place  in  those  days  under  Professor 
Wilson's  roof,  where  might  be  seen  together  Lockhart,  Hogg,  Gait, 
Sir  William  Hamilton,  his  brother,  Cai)tain  Thomas  Hamilton,  Sir 
Adam  Ferguson,  Sir  Henry  IJaeburn,  Mr.  Allan,  and  Watson  Gor- 
don. In  such  meetings  as  these,  it  may  easily  be  imagined  how 
the  hours  would  pass,  the  conversation  and  merriment  perhaps  con- 
tinuing till  sun-rising.  \ 

Wilson  had  now  apparently  committed  himself  to  literature  as 
his  vocation  ;  and  when  he  removed  to  Ann  Street  there  seemed  no 
great  probability  of  his  being  soon  called  to  any  more  definite  sphere 
of  exertion.  His  professional  prospects  were  not  much  to  be  calcu- 
lated on,  for,  though  fitted  in  some  respects  to  achieve  distinction 
at  the  bar,  he  appears  never  to  have  seriously  conte]7iplated  that  as 
an  object  of  ambition.  His  aspirations  were  in  a  very  diiferent 
direction.  Though  his  pursuits  and  acquirements  had  been  of  a 
very  general  and  eclectic  sort,  he  had  given  early  proof  of  his  love 
and  capacity  for  philosophic  studies.  He  had  not,  it  is  true,  nuide 
philosophy  his  special  pursuit,  like  his  illustrious  friend  Sir  William 
Hamilton,  for  poetry  and  literature  divided  his  allegiance.  But  the 
science  of  mind,  and  more  particularly  Moral  Philosophy,  had  for 
him  at  all  times  high  attraction.  Human  nature  had  been  in  fact 
his  Btiidy  ])ar  excellefice,  and  when  the  prospect  opened  to  him  of 
being  able  to  cultivate  that  study,  not  merely  as  afield  of  analytic:d 
skill,  but  as  a  means  of  jjractically  infiuenchig  the  minds  of  others 
with  all  the  authority  of  academic  position,  he  eagerly  grasped  at 
it  as  an  object  worthy  of  his  highest  ambition.     That  prize  was  not 


202  MEMOIR   OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

to  be  won  without  a  desperate  struggle,  to  the  history  of  which  a 
few  pages  must  now  be  devoted. 

In  April,  1820,  the  chair  of  Moral  Philosophy  in  the  University 
of  Edinb\iri:h  became  vacant  by  the  lamented  death  of  Dr.  Tlionias 
Brown.  The  contest  which  ensued  has  had  few  parallels  even  in 
the  liistory  of  that  University,  whilst  the  patronage  lay  with  the 
Town  Council,  whose  members  Iiad  to  be  canvassed  personally  like 
the  voters  in  a  rotten  borough.  My  father  announced  himself  as  a 
candidate  in  the  course  of  the  month,  and  so  did  Sir  William 
Hamilton.  Other  distinguished  men  were  mentioned  as  possible 
competitors,  such  as  Sir  James  Mackintosh  and  Mr.  Malthus  ;  but 
it  soon  became  apparent  that  between  the>e  two  alone  the  struggle 
was  to  lie.  Then  came  the  tug  of  war.  The  rivals  were  intimate 
personal  friends,  and  between  them,  happily,  no  unpleasant  word  or 
thought  arose  during  the  time  that  their  respective  friends  were 
fighting  for  and  against  them,  like  Greek  and  Trojan.  Both  had 
been  brilliant  Oxonians ;  but  the  one  was  known  to  have  devoted 
himself  to  philosophy,  with  a  singleness  of  aim  and  a  specialty  of 
power,  that  seemed  to  his  friends,  and  certainly  not  without  reason, 
to  throw  tlie  pretensions  of  his  rival  utterly  into  the  shade.  Happily 
for  him,  too,  he  had,  as  became  a  philosopher,  abstained  from  any 
interference  in  public  questions;  either  openly  or  in  secret ;  and  his 
retired  and  studious  life  aflForded  no  possible  mark  for  censure  or 
insinuation  even  to  the  most  malicious  enemy.  The  other,  though 
reckoned  by  men  well  fitted  to  judge,  as  a  person  singularly  gifted 
with  philosophic  as  well  as  poetic  faculty,  was  better  known  in  the 
outer  world  as  a  daring  and  brilliant  litterateur  /  one  of  a  band  of 
writers  who  had  excited  much  admiration,  but  also  much  righteous 
censure,  and  personally  as  a  somewhat  eccenti'ic  young  man  ot  very 
athletic  and  jovial  tendencies.  How  these  qualities  affected  his 
position  as  a  candidate  will  speedily  appear ;  but  all  other  distinc- 
tions Avere  lost  sight  of  in  the  one  great  fact  of  political  creed.  Sir 
William  was  a  Whig :  Wilson  was  a  Tory.  The  matter  all  lay  in 
that.  Wilson,  too,  was  not  only  a  Tory,  but  a  Tory  of  the  most 
unpardonable  description ;  he  was  one  of  the  leading  hands,  if  not 
the  editor,  of  that  scandalous  publication,  BlackioootV s  Magazine^  a 
man  therefore  who  needed  no  further  testimonial  of  being  at  least 
an  assassin  and  a  re})robate.  He,  forsooth,  a  Professor  of  Moral 
Philosophy,  a  successor  of  Dugald  Stewart !     The  thing  was  mou- 


Sir  William  llumiltuu,  at  Ust'ord. — Froui  a  sketch  by  Mr.  Lockbart. 


THK    MORAL    PUILOSOrilY    CHAIR.  205 

strous ;  an  outrage  on  decency  and  eoniuion  sense.  Sucli,  without 
exaggeration,  was  the  view  taken  by  the  Whig  side  in  this  contest, 
and  strenuously  supported  publicly  in  the  columns  of  the  Scotsman* 
and  privately  in  every  circle  where  the  name  oi  Blackwood  was  a 
name  of  abomination  and  of  fear. 

How  the  proceedings  of  this  election  interested  my  mother  may 
be  seen  best  from  her  own  true  womanly  feelings  expressed  without 
reserve,  in  a  letter  to  her  sister : — 

"  My  mind  has  been  anxiously  occupied  on  Mr.  Wilson's  account, 
by  an  election  in  which  he  has,  amongst  other  literary  men,  started 
as  a  candidate.  It  is  for  a  Professor's  Chair  in  the  University  here. 
The  Professorship  of  Moral  Philosophy  is  the  situation,  which  became 
vacant  about  six  weeks  ago,  by  the  death  of  Dr.  Brown.  The  gift  of 
the  Chair  is  in  the  power  of  the  Magistrates  and  Town  Council,  and  I 
have  no  doubt  there  will  be  a  great  struggle  between  the  two  polit- 
ical parties  here.  The  WhUjs  hitherto  have  had  every  thing  their  own 
way;  and  the  late  Professor  was  one,  as  well  as  the  well-known  Du- 
gald  Stewart,  who  resigned  the  situation  from  bad  health,  and  who 
has  it  in  his  power  to  resume  lecturing  if  he  chooses,  and  w'hich  I  fear 
he  will  do  from  party  spirit,  if  he  thinks  there  is  any  chance  of  Mr. 
Wilson's  success.  Mr.  Wilson  has  been  assured  of  all  the  support 
that  Government  can  give  him,  and  Sir  Walter  Scott  has  been  par- 
ticularly kind  in  his  exertions  for  his  success.  The  testimoni:Us 
Avhich  he  has  received  from  the  Professors  at  Glasgow,  as  to  his 
powers  for  such  a  situation,  are  most  gratifying  and  flattering ;  in- 
deed, his  prospects  are  at  present  favorable ;  but  I  will  not  allow 
myself  to  be  sauguhie,  though  I  must  say  that  if  Mr.  Wilson  was  to 

•  A  single  specimen  of  the  rhetoric  used  may  suffice,  being  the  peroration  of  a  long  and  angry 
leading  article  which  appeared  immediately  before  the  election.  The  electors  were,  in  concluaion, 
thus  solemnly  adjured: — "Again  we  call  upon  those  members  of  Council  who  are  fathers  of  fam- 
ilies; who  respect  the  oaths  they  have  taken;  who  have  some  regard  for  religion,  morals,  and 
dccfncy,  to  read  the  Chuldee  MS. ;  the  pilgrimage  to  the  '  Kirk  of  Shotts ;'  the  attacks  on  Messrs. 
Wordsworth,  Pringle,  Dunbar,  Coleridge,  and  others;  to  weigh  and  consider  the  spii-it  and  cha- 
racter of  many  other  articles  in  the  Magazine,  which  are  either  written  by  Mr.  Wilson,  or  pub 
lished  under  his  auspices;  and  if  they  can  possibly  excuse  him  as  a  private  individual,  we  still 
put  It  to  them  how  they  can  justify  it  to  their  conscience,  their  country,  and  their  God,  to  select 
him  as  the  man  to  till  the  chair  of  Moral  Philosophy,  and  to  confide  to  him  the  taste,  the  morajs, 
and  the  char.icters  of  the  rising  generation.'" 

When  the  election  was  over,  the  public  were  informed,  through  the  same  channel,  that  the  con- 
duct of  the  electors  had  "  stamped  indelible  disgrace  on  the  Town  Council,"  and  that  though  it 
was  a  prevalent  opinion  that  they  were  alreody  as  low  as  they  coulil  be  in  the  estimation  of 
their  fellow-citizL^ns.  the  proceedings  of  that  day  had  shown  this  conclusion  to  be  erroneous,  iJid 
demonstrated  that  there  is  in  the  lowest  depth  a  lovviT  stiU. 


206  MLilOIR    OF    JOHN    WILSON. 

get  sucb  an  honorable  situalion,  it  would  indeed  be  truly  gratifying 
to  me;  and  I  think  he  is  well  calculated  to  fill,  with  respectability 
and  credit,  such  a  Chair.  All  the  princijud  men  here  on  the  Gov- 
er)inieiit  side  are  most  anxious  for  his  success  ;  and  even  if  he  should 
be  disappointed,  the  handsome  manner  in  Avhich  they  have  come 
forward,  may  be  as  useful  to  him  at  some  future  time  as  it  is  satis- 
factory at  the  present.  The  emolument  of  the  situation  in  itself  is 
nothing,  but  depends  on  the  number  of  students  who  may  attend 
the  class.  Dr.  Brown  had  about  a  thousand  a  year  fi'om  it.  He 
was  brother  of  the  Miss  Brown  whom  you  may  remember  seeing 
here,  and  the  authoress  oi  Lays  of  Afftction. 

"If  I  have  anything  to  say  with  regard  to  Mr.  "Wilson's  affairs,  I 
will  let  you  know  soon,  but  the  matter  will  not  be  ultimately  decided 
for  some  time  ;  his  opponefits  at  present  a.re /eic,  and  the  most  formid- 
able is  Sir  William  Hamilton,  who  is  not  a  Govemimeut  man,  but 
others  may  start  more  appalling.  Malthus  is  one  talked  of,  and  Sir 
Jameg  Mackintosh.  The  latter  is  an  elderly  man,  who  ranks  very 
high  in  the  literary  world,  and  a   Whig.'''' 

This  letter  is  dated  29th  April,  1820.  She  writes  again  in  July  • 
"I  know  that  you  take  an  interest  in  all  our  concerns,  or  I  should 
not  again  bore  you  with  the  old  story  of  the  election,  which,  when 
I  last  wrote  to  you,  I  thought  was  concluded ;  indeed,  the  report 
that  Dugald  Stewart  meant  to  resume  his  lectures,  came  from  such 
good  authority  that  Mr.  Wilson  set  off  iimuediately  to  Peebles  to 
recover  his  fatigue.  He  was  no  sooner  gone  than  he  was  sent  for 
back  again  ;  for  the  very  next  day  Dugald  Stewart  sent  in  his  resig- 
nation, and  the  canvass  began  instantly  in  the  most  determined 
manner.  You  can  form  no  idea  with  what  warmth  it  is  still  going 
on,  and  the  Whigs  are  perfectly  mad.  The  matter  is  to  be  decided 
next  Wednesday,  and  as  yet  Mr.  Wilson  has  greatly  the  majority 
of  votes,  and  I  trust  will  continue  to  have  them,  and  that  his  friends 
will  prove  stanch.  They  have  been  uncommonly  active  indeed  in 
his  behalf,  Sir  Walter  Scott  in  particular,  who  says  there  are  greater 
exertions  making  by  the  Whigs  now,  than  they  ever  made  in  any 
political  contest  in  Scotland.  The  abuse  lavished  upon  Mr.  Wilson 
by  them  is  most  intemperate  ;  his  greatest  crime  is  that  he  is  a  con- 
tributor to  lUackicooirs  J\Ia(/azi)te^  that  notoriously  Tory  journal. 
But  I  trust  all  will  end  well.  I  shall  not  write  again  till  the  19th, 
when  our  suspense  will  be  at  an  end." 


TIIK   MOKAL    PIlILOSOi'IIY    CHAIR,  207 

Hostility  on  grounds  purely  political  would  have  been,  in  the 
singular  state  of  feeling  which  then  prevailed,  more  or  less  excusable. 
But  as  the  contest  deepened,  and  my  father's  prospects  of  success 
grew  stronger,  the  oi)position  took  a  form  more  malignant.  When 
it  was  found  useless  to  gainsay  his  mental  (qualifications  for  the  office, 
or  to  excite  odium  on  the  ground  of  his  Uterary  offiinccs,  the  attack 
was  directed  against  liis  moral  character  ;  and  it  was  broadly  insin- 
uated that  this  candidate  for  the  Cliair  of  Etliics  was  himself  a  man 
of  more  than  doubtful  morality ;  that  he  was,  in  fact,  not  merely  a 
"reveller"  and  a  "  blasphemer,"  but  a  bad  husband,  a  bad  father,  a 
person  not  fit  to  be  trusted  as  a  teacher  of  youth.  These  cruel  charges 
touched  him  to  the  quick.  It  is  difficult  now  to  realize  that  they 
could  have  required  refutation  ;  but  so  far,  it  a})pears,  did  the  strength 
of  party  bitterness  carry  men  in  these  angry  days.  My  father  found 
it  necessary,  therefore,  to  adduce  "  testimonials"  to  his  moral  char- 
acter, as  well  as  to  his  intellectual  acquirements.  How  painfully  he 
fe't  these  malicious  attacks  maybe  judged  from  the  following  letter 
to  his  friend  the  Rev.  John  Fleming,  of  Rayrig,  Windermere :  its 
manly  spirit  and  uoble  tone,  under  circumstances  so  trying  to  the 
temper,  are  worthy  of  remark : — 

"  53  Queen  Street,  Edinburgh, 
July  2d. 
"  My  dear  Sir  : — I  owe  you  many  thanks  for  your  most  kind 
and  friendly  letter,  which  I  laid  before  the  electors,  along  with 
many  others  from  jtersons  of  whose  good  opinion  I  have  reason  to 
be  proud.  The  day  of  election  is  at  last  fixed,  after  many  strange 
delays,  all  contrived  by  my  o])ponents,  who  have  struggled  to  ob- 
tain time,  during  which  they  contrived  to  calumniate  me  with  a 
virulence  never  exceeded  and  seldom  equalled.  The  election  will 
take  place  uj)on  Wednesday,  the  19th  of  July,  and  the  Contest  lies 
between  Sir  William  Hamilton,  Bart.,  a  banister  here,  and  myself; 
other  four  candidates  being  supposed  to  have  little  or  no  chance  of 
success.  I  am,  unfortunately,  opposed  by  all  the  Whig  influence  in 
Scotland  ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  I  have  the  most  strenuous  supj»ort 
of  Government,  as  far  as  their  iidluence  can  be  legitimately  exer- 
cised, and  of  many  of  the  most  distinguished  independent  men  in 
Scotland.  My  friends  are  all  sanguine ;  many  of  them  confideiit; 
and  I  myself  entertain  strong,  and  I  think  well-grounded  hopes  of 
success.     My  enemies  have  attacked  my  piivate  character  at  all 


208  MEMOrit   OF   JOIIX    WILSON. 

points,  and  Mithin  these  few  'lays,  liave  not  scrupled  to  circulate 
reports  that  I  am  a  bad  husband  and  a  bad  fatlier.  I  confess  that 
this  has  aflfected  rae  greatly  ;  as,  whatever  my  faults  or  eiroi-s  may 
have  been,  it  is  true  as  holy  writ  that  I  do  tenderly  love  n.y  wife  and 
children,  and  would  willin<fly  hiy  down  my  life  for  their  sakes.  I 
need  not  say  that  such  base  insinuations  have  roused  the  indignation 
of  my  friends ;  but  though  caliminy  is  in  general  ultimately 
defeated,  it  often  gains  its  ends  for  the  time  being ;  and  in  this  case 
it  is  likely  to  operate  to  my  disadvantage  with  some  of  the  electors 
whose  minds  are  not  yet  made  up.  Xow  you,  my  dear  sir,  mar- 
ried me  to  one  of  the  most  sinless  and  inoffensive  of  human  beings, 
whom  not  to  love  would  indeed  prove  me  to  be  a  wretch  without  a 
soul,  or  a  heart,  or  a  mind,  and  to  treat  whom  otherwise  than 
kindly  and  tenderly  would  be  an  outrage  against  nature.  God  has 
blessed  me  with  six  innocent  children,  for  whom  I  pray  every  night ; 
and  all  my  earthly  happiness  is  in  the  bosom  of  my  family.  But  to 
you  I  need  say  no  more  on  such  a  subject.  As  an  answer  to  all 
such  calumnies,  I  fear  not  that  my  future  life  will  be  satisfactory  ; 
but,  meanwhile,  you  will  be  doing  me  another  friendly  office  bv 
writiiig  to  me  another  letter,  containing  your  sentiments  of  me  as  a 
man, — such  a  letter  as  you  would  wish  to  address  to  a  friend  who 
has  ever  loved  and  respected  you,  on  understanding  that  he  has 
been  basely,  falsely,  and  cruelly  calumniated.  The  electors  are 
satisfied  with  my  talents,  and  even  my  enemies  have  ceased  now  to 
depreciate  them;  but  the  attack  is  now  made  on  my  moral  character, 
and  they  are  striving  to  injure  me  in  the  public  estimation  by 
charges  which,  at  the  same  time,  cannot,  in  spite  of  their  falsehood, 
fail  to  give  me  indescribable  pain.  I  am,  my  dear  sir,  ever  jours 
affectionately,  John  Wilson." 

Mr.  Fleming's  rejjly  is  not  extant,  but  the  answer  to  a  similar 
request  addressed  to  Mrs.  Grant  of  Laggan  may  be  given  as  a  c;;- 
riosity  in  literature,  being,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  the  last  specimen  Uiat 
will  be  seen  of  such  a  testimonial  to  any  candidate  for  a  professor- 
ship.    My  father  wrote  to  Mrs.  Grant  as  follows : — 

"  SumlaT/  Afternoon. 
"My  dear  ^Iadam: — Duiing  the  course  of  the  canvass  in  which 
1  have  for  some  time  past  been  engaged,  I  am  sorry  to  know  thai 


THE   MORAL    PHILOSOPHY    CHAIK. 


209 


many  calumnies  have  been  industriously  circulated  against  my  ])ii- 
vate  character.  Among  others,  it  has  lately  been  insinuated  that  I 
am  a  bad  husband,  a  bad  father,  and,  in  jsliort,  in  all  rt-spects  a  bad 
family  man.  I  believe  that  I  may  with  perfect  confidence  assert, 
that  whatever  may  be  my  faults  or  sins,  want  of  aflection  for  my 
wife  and  children,  my  mothei-,  sisters,  and  brothers,  is  not  of  the 
number.  My  whole  happiness  in  life  is  centred  in  my  family,  wliom 
God  in  his  infinite  goodness  has  hitherto  preserved  to  me  in  their 
beauty,  their  simplicity,  and  innocence.  I  am  more  at  home  than 
perhaps  any  other  married  man  in  Edinburgh ;  nor  is  there  on  earth 
a  human  being  who  feels  more  profoundly  and  gratefully  the  bless- 
edness and  sanctity  of  domestic  life.  This,  my  dear  madam,  must 
be  your  conviction ;  and  you  would  now  be  conferring  upon  me  a 
singular  favor,  by  expressing  to  me  in  such  a  letter  as  I  could  show 
to  my  friends  in  Council,  of  whom  I  have  many,  your  sentiments 
with  respect  to  me  and  my  character.  Your  own  pure  and  lofty 
character  will  be  a  warrant  of  the  truth  of  what  you  write,  and  a 
Imndred  anonymous  slaiulers  will  fall  I)efore  the  weight  of  your  fa- 
vorable opinion.  I  would  not  write  to  you  thus,  if  I  were  conscious 
of  having  done  any  thing  which  might  forfeit  your  esteem ;  but 
whatever  may  be  thought  of  my  talents  or  of  my  poetical  genius, 
neither  of  which  I  have  ever  wished  to  hear  overrated,  I  have  no 
doubt  that  I  am  entitled  to  the  character  of  a  virtuous  man  in  the 
relations  of  private  life.  I  am,  my  dear  madam,  yours,  with  true 
respect,  "Johx  Wilsox." 

Mrs.  Grant  thus  replied: — 

"  I  have  known  your  family  for  several  years  intimately ;  indeed, 
through  intermediate  friends,  have  known  much  of  you  from  your 
very  childhood ;  and  in  the  glow  of  youth,  high  spirits,  and  tm- 
douded  prosperity,  always  understood  you  to  be  a  person  of  amia- 
ble and  generous  feelings  and  upright  intentions.  Since  you  mar- 
ried, I  have  known  more  of  you,  and  of  the  excellent  person  to 
whom  you  owe  no  common  })orlion  of  coiuiubial  fcliL-ity ;  and  I 
always  believed  her  to  be  the  tran(juil  and  hai)])y  wife  of  a  fond  and 
faithful  husband,  domestic  in  his  habits,  devoted  to  his  children, 
and  peculiarly  beloved  by  his  brotheis  and  sisters,  and  his  respect- 
able and  venerated  jjarcnt.     Often  have  I  heard  your  sisters  talk 


210  MEMOIR   (H<'   JOHN    WILSON. 

Avitli  the  warmest  affectiou  of  you,  and  praise  you,  in  particular,  for 
your  fond  and  uiu'eniitted  attention  to  your  wife ;  and,  moreover, 
remark  how  quiet  and  domestic  the  tenor  of  your  life  has  been 
since  you  left  their  family,  and  what  particular  delight  you  took  in 
that  very  fine  family  of  children  with  which  God  has  blessed  you. 
If  you  were,  indeed,  capable  of  neglecting  or  undervaluing  such  a 
wife  and  such  children,  no  censure  could  be  too  severe  for  such 
conduct.  But  in  making  an  attack  of  that  nature,  your  enemies 
have  mistaken  their  point,  as  your  domestic  character  may  be  called 
your  strong  ground,  where  you  are  certainly  invulnerable  as  far  as 
ever  I  could  understand  or  hear.  People's  tastes  and  opinions  may 
differ  in  regard  to  talents  and  acquirements,  but  as  to  domestic 
duties  and  kind  affections,  there  can  be  but  one  opinion  among 
those  whose  opinion  is  of  any  value." 

A  still  higher  authority  came  forward  in  vindication  of  his  charac- 
ter. The  following  letter  was  addressed  to  the  Lord  Provost  by 
Sir  Walter  Scott : — 

"EmNBURGii,  8th  July,  1S20. 

"My  Lord  Provost: — Some  unfavorable  reports  having  been 
circulated  with  great  industry  respecting  the  character  of  John 
AVilson,  Esq.,  at  present  candidate  for  the  Chair  of  Moral  Philoso- 
phy, now  vacant  in  this  University,  I  use  the  freedom  to  addresji 
your  Lordship  in  a  subject  interesting  to  me,  aUke  from  personrd 
regard  to  Mr.  Wilson,  and  from  the  high  importance  which,  in 
connnon  with  every  friend  to  this  city,  I  must  necessarily  att.ach  to 
the  present  object  of  his  ambition. 

"Mr.  Wilson  has  already  produced  to  your  Lordship  such  testi- 
monials of  his  successful  studies,  and  of  his  good  morals,  as  have 
seldom  been  offered  on  a  like  occasion.  They  comprehend  a  his- 
tory of  his  life,  public  and  private,  from  his  early  youth  down  to 
this  day,  and  subscribed  by  men  whose  honor  and  good  faith  cannot 
be  called  into  question  ;  and  who,  besides,  ai'e  too  much  unconnected 
with  each  other  to  make  it  possible  they  would  or  could  unite  their 
false  testimonies,  for  the  pur})ose  of  palming  an  unworthy  candidate 
upon  the  electors  to  this  important  office.  For  my  own  part,  whose 
evidence  in  behalf  of  Mr.  Wilson  is  to  be  found  among  certificates 
granted  by  many  persons  more  capable  of  estimating  his  worth  and 
tal(>nts,  I  can  only  say  that  I  should  hue  conceived  myself  guilty 


THE   MORAL    PHILOSuI'IIY    ClIATK.  211 

of  a  "Very  great  crime,  had  I  Leon  capable  of  recommending  to  the 
Moral  Philosophy  Chair,  a  scoffer  at  religion  or  a  liburliue  in  mor- 
als. But  Mr.  Wilson  has  still  further,  and,  if  possible,  more  strong 
evidence  in  favor  of  his  character,  since  he  may  appeal  to  every 
line  in  those  works  vvliich  he  has  given  to  the  public,  and  which  are 
at  once  monuments  of  his  genius,  and  records  of  his  deep  sense  of 
devotion  and  high  tone  of  morality.  lie  must  have,  indeed,  been  a 
most  accomplished  hypocrite  (and  I  have  not  heard  that  hypocrisy 
has  ever  been  imputed  to  Mr.  Wilson)  who  could  plead  with  such 
force  and  enthusiasm  the  cause  of  virtue  and  religion,  while  he  was 
privately  turning  the  one  into  ridicule,  and  transgressing  the  dic- 
tates of  the  other.  Permit  me  to  say,  my  Lord,  that  with  the 
power  of  appealing  to  the  labors  of  his  life  on  the  one  hand,  and  to 
the  united  testimony  of  so  many  friends  of  respectability  on  the 
other,  Mr.  AVilson  seems  well  entitled  to  despise  the  petty  scandal 
Avhich,  if  not  altogether  invented,  must  at  least  have  been  strongly 
exaggerated  and  distorted,  either  by  those  who  felt  themselves  at 
liberty  to  violate  the  confidence  of  private  society  by  first  circula 
ting  such  stories,  or  in  their  subsequent  progress  from  tongue  to 
tongue.  Indeed,  if  the  general  tenor  of  a  man's  life  and  of  his 
writings  cannot  be  appealed  to  as  sufficient  contradiction  of  this 
species  of  anonymous  slander,  the  character  of  the  best  and  wisest 
man  must  stand  at  the  mercy  of  every  talebearer  who  chooses  to 
work  u|)  a  serious  charge  out  of  what  may  be  incautiously  said  in 
the  general  license  of  a  convivial  meeting.  I  believe,  my  Lord, 
there  are  very  few  men,  and  those  highly  favored  both  by  temper- 
ament and  circumstances,  or  else  entirely  sequestered  from  the 
world,  who  have  not  at  some  period  of  their  life  been  surprised 
both  into  words  and  actions,  for  which  in  their  cooler  and  wiser 
moments  they  have  been  both  sorry  and  ashamed.  The  contagion 
of  bad  example,  the  removal  of  the  ordinary  restraints  of  society, 
must,  while  men  continue  fallible,  be  admitted  as  some  apology  for 
such  acts  of  folly.  But  I  trust,  that  in  judging  and  weighiug  the 
character  of  a  candidate,  otherwise  qualified  to  execute  an  inipoi^ 
tant  trust,  the  public  will  never  be  deprived  of  his  services  by  i:u 
posing  upon  him  the  impossible  task  of  showing  that  he  has  been, 
at  all  tiuies  and  moments  of  his  life,  as  wise,  cautious,  and  temper- 
ate as  he  is  in  his  geneial  habits,  and  his  ordinary  walk  through 
the  world. 


213  MEMOm   OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

"  I  have  only  to  add,  that  snpi)osmg  it  possible  that  malice 
might  have  some  slight  ground  for  some  of  the  stories  ■which  have 
been  circulated,  I  am  positive,  from  Mr.  Wilson's  own  dechiration, 
and  that  of  those  who  best  know  him,  that  he  is  altogether  inca- 
]»able  either  of  composing  parodies  upon  Scripture,  of  being  a 
member  of  any  association  for  forwarding  intidclity  or  profaueness, 
or  affording  countenance  otherwise  to  the  various  attacks  which 
have  been  made  against  Christianity.  To  my  own  certain  knowl- 
edge he  has,  on  the  contrary,  been  in  the  habit  of  actively  exerting 
his  strong  powers,  and  that  very  recently,  in  the  energetic  defence 
of  those  doctrines  which  he  has  been  misi-epresented  as  selecting 
for  the  subject  of  ridicule. 

"I  must  apologize  to  your  Lordship  for  intruding  on  your  time 
such  a  long  letter,  which,  after  all,  contains  little  but  what  must 
have  occurred  to  every  one  of  the  honorable  and  worthy  members 
of  the  elective  body.  If  I  am  anxious  for  Mr.  Wilson's  success  on 
the  present  occasion,  it  is  because  I  am  desirous  to  see  his  high 
talents  and  powers  of  elocution  engaged  in  the  important  task  of 
teaching  tliat  philosophy  which  is  allied  to  and  founded  upon  reli 
gion  and  virtue. 

"  I  have  the  honor,  etc.,  "  Walter  Scott." 

The  day  of  success  at  last  arrived  ;  and  Mrs.  Wilson  thus  com 
municates  the  joyful  news  to  her  sister  : — 

"I  am  sure  you  will  rejoice  to  hear  that  Mr.  Wilson  was  yester- 
day elected  Professor  of  Moral  Philosopliy,  and  that  in  sj)ite  of  all 
the  machinations  of  his  enemies,  the  Whigs.  He  had  twenty-one 
votes  out  of  thirty, — a  majority  of  twelve,  which  out  of  so  small  a 
number  is  pretty  considerable.  Poor  'Billy  Balmer'  took  such  an 
interest  in  the  thing  that  he  went  yesterday  morning  and  stayed 
near  the  scene  of  action  till  it  was  all  over,  and  then  came  puthng 
down  with  a  face  of  delight  to  tell  me  that  '  Master  was  ahead  a 
good  deal.' " 

A  few  days  later  she  writes  in  a  strain  of  high  triumph.  Like 
a  good  and  brave  wife  she  regards  her  husband's  enemies  as  hers, 
and  under  the  summary  designation  of  IVTiif/s  they  corae  in  for  a 
proper  share  of  her  notice  : — 


TUE   MOKAL    PIIILUa(.»l'lI  Y    CHAIR. 


213 


"Ann  Street,  July  27,  1820. 

"  My  dear  Mary  : — The  want  of  a  decent  sheet  of  paper  shall 
not  deter  me  from  immediately  thanking  you  for  your  and  James's 
kind  congratulations  on  our  success  in  the  late  canvass,  which, 
thank  Heaven,  is  at  last  at  an  end,  after  a  most  severe  struggle,  in 
which  I  flatter  myself  Mi-.  Wilson  has  conducted  himself  -with  a 
forbearance  and  a  magnanimity  worthy  a  saint,  and  which,  had 
he  been  a  Catholic,  he  would  have  been  canonized  for.  The  perti- 
nacity of  his  enemies  was  unprecedented,  and  I  suppose  they  have 
not  done  with  him  yet;  but  the  Tories  have  been  triumphant,  and 
I  care  not  a  straw  for  the  impotent  attempts  of  the  scum  of  the 
defeated  Whigs.  I  must  say  I  chuckle  at  the  downfall  of  the 
Whigs,  whose  meamiess  and  wickedness  I  could  not  give  you  any 
idea  of  were  I  to  Avrite  a  ream  of  paper  in  the  cause.  In  the  num- 
ber of  Blackwood's  3Iagazine  last  published  they  got  a  rap  on  the 
knuckles,  just  as  hints  as  to  what  they  may  expect  in  future  if  tliey 
persevere  in  their  abuse.*  .... 

"Mr.  W.  is  very  well,  but  as  thin  as  a  rat,  and  no  wonder  ;  for 
the  last  four  months  he  has  had  no  rest  for  the  sole  of  his  foot.  He 
is  now  as  busy  as  possible  studying.  His  enemies  have  given  him 
little  time  to  prepare  his  lectures — one  hundred  and  twenty  in  num- 
ber. The  class  meets  the  beginning  of  November,  and  he  has  to 
lecture  an  horn-  every  day  till  April.  But  for  the  detestable  Whigs 
the  thing  might  have  been  settled  four  months  ago,  and  he  would 
have  had  ample  time  for  his  preparations." 

The  proceedings  at  the  election  need  not  further  be  dwelt  on. 
An  attempt  to  rescind  the  vote  at  a  subse<pient  meeti'ig  of  Council 
was  ignominiously  defeated.  The  principal  iigure  in  tliat  scene  is 
a  certain  Deacon  Paterson,  who  appears  for  once  on  the  stage  of 
history,  armed  with  a  "  green  bag,"  the  contents  of  wdiich  were  to 
annihilate  the  new  Professor's  re[)Utation  and  cpiash  the  election. 
But  the  Deacon  and  his  bag  were  very  speedily  disposed  of,  and 

*  Here  follow  sketches  of  some  of  Mr.  Wilson's  enemies  and  friends,  alluded  to  in  the  ^^ai;ft 
ssiufi,  drawn  in  lively  colors,  t'roiii  which  we  can  only  tind  room  for  that  of  "The  Odontist  :"— 
"The  reputed  author  of  the  ^  '/'fsliuioiiiitiii''  is  a  j;i>od-natMred  dentist,  who  lives  in  Glasirow, 
whnse  name  is  Janus  Scott,  and  who  is  the  only  Scolchnian  I  know,  wilh  a  yry  few  exceptions, 
that  can  understand  or  relish  a  joke,  and  all  ihejeiw  d'eKjn-it  in  BUickwtxid'n  Mcif/nziiie  he  enjoyn 
excecdintrly,  though,  poor  man,  he  could  not  write  a  line  if  his  salvation  depended  upon  it.  .  . 
'The  Jurist,'  who  coined  the  rhymes  in  praise  of  Blackwood,  13  ouo  of  the  groat  lawyers  bui-« 
ft  Mr.  Cranstoun." 


214  MEMOIR    OF    JOHN    WILSOX. 

fortbwitli  disappeared  into  oblivion,  in  the  midst  of  a  lieart y  cliorua 
of  hisses. 

My  father  lost  no  time  in  addressing  himself  to  his  important 
labors,  and  applied  in  all  quarters,  where  help  was  to  be  relifd  on, 
for  advice  and  assistance  in  collecting  materials  to  guide  him  in  the 
preparation  of  his  lectures.  Three  days  after  the  election  he 
writes  to  his  friend,  Mr.  Jolm  Smith,  the  Glasgow  publisher: — 

"  53  QcEEX  Street,  July  22. 

"My  DEAJi  Sir: — Many  thanks  for  your  very  kind  letter.  The 
contest  was,  you  know,  of  a  most  savage  nature,  but  I  never  feared 
for  the  result.  A  protest  was  given  in  by  the  defeated  party,  but 
that  means  nothing,  and  I  will  be  Professor  to  my  dying  day. 

"  It  is  quite  impossible  for  me  to  visit  you  at  Dunoon,  however 
delightful  it  would  be.  My  labors  are  not  yet  commenced,  but 
they  must  be  incessant  and  severe;  and  I  do  not  intend  to  leave 
Edinburgh  for  one  single  day  till  after  I  have  finished  the  course  of 
Lectures.  Xothing  but  perseverance  and  industry  can  bring  me 
even  respectably  through  my  toils,  and  they  shall  not  be  wanting. 

"What  works  do  you  know  of  on  Xatural  Theology?  Ask 
Wardlaw. 

"  In  short,  the  next  month  is  to  be  passed  by  in  reading  and 
thinking  alone,  and  all  information  you  can  communicate  about 
books  and  men  will  be  acceptable." 

On  the  3d  of  August  he  again  wrote  to  ^Nlr.  Smith  : — 

"My  DEAji  Sir: — All  is  now  fixed  respecting  my  election,  verb- 
ally as  well  as  virtually.  The  ^Minute  of  Election  is  to  be  read,  so 
says  an  old  and  obsolete  law,  twice  in  Council^  and  Deacon  Pater- 
son,  as  you  probably  know,  gave  notice  on  the  19th,  that  he  would 
move  to  rescinil  the  election.  Accordingly,  on  the  first  reading  of 
the  minute  (Wednesday  following  election),  he  rose  and  declared 
his  intention  of  opening  a  bagful  of  charges  against  me,  which,  he 
said,  would  cause  my  friends  to  rescind  the  election.  This  he  tried 
to  do  yesterday,  but  my  friends  would  not  suffer  his  green  bag  to 
be  opened.  On  this,  he  made  a  long  prepared  sjieech,  full  of  all 
manner  of  cahimjiies  against  me,  during  wliich  he  was  repeatedly 
called   to  order  even  by  some  of  my  opponents.     At  last,  a  vote 


THE   MORAL    PHILOSOPHY    CHAIK.  215 

of  censure  ui:)on  him  Avas  proposed  and  carried  by  twenty-one  to 
six.  On  offering  to  apologize,  this  censure  was  withdrawn,  and  he 
,did  apologize.  The  vote  was  then  put, 'rescind  or  adhere,' and 
carried  '  adhere'  by  twenty-one  to  six,  so  that  all  is  settled.  The 
sole  object,  apparently,  in  all  these  proceedings  has  been  to  annoy 
me,  my  friends  and  supporters,  and  to  give  vent  to  the  Avrath  of 
party  i'eoling. 

"  I  am  anxious  to  know  if  you  can  get  me  Mylne's*  notes. 
It  is  with  no  view,  I  need  hardly  say,  of  using  any  thing  of  his,  but 
merely  of  seeing  his  course  of  discussion. 

"I  am  both  able  and  willing  to  write  my  own  lectures,  every 
word ;  but  before  I  begin  to  do  so,  I  am  anxious  to  have  before  me 
a  vista  of  my  hxbors,  antl  this  might  be  aided  by  a  siglit  of  his  or 
any  other  lectures.  But  all  this  is  confidential,  for  my  enemies  are 
numerous  and  ready,  and  will  do  all  they  can  to  injure  me  in  all 
things.    But  they  may  bark  and  growl,  for  it  will  be  to  no  purpose.'' 

The  successor  of  Dugald  Stewart  was  certain  to  have  all  eyes 
upon  him,  and  the  circumstances  of  the  election  made  him  feel  all 
the  more  imperiously  the  need  of  acquitting  himself  well  in  a  place 
that  had  been  filled  by  men  so  famous ;  above  all  merely  pei"sonal 
considerations,  too,  he  felt,  with  almost  oppressive  anxiety,  the  sa- 
credness  of  the  trust  that  had  been  committed  to  him  as  a  teacher 
of  that  science  which  embraces  all  the  higher  truths  and  precepts 
"which  tlie  light  of  reason  can  make  known.  He  accordingly  set 
about  his  preparations  with  his  usual  energy,  and  for  the  brief  pe- 
riod that  intervened  before  the  opening  of  the  session  in  November, 
appears  to  have  worked  iiuressantly.  His  poi'trait  in  his  study  is 
thus  playfully  sketched  by  my  mother: — "Mr.  Wilson  is  as  busy 
studying  as  possible,  indeed  he  has  little  time  before  him  for  his 
great  task ;  he  says  it  will  take  him  one  month  at  least  to  n)ake  out 
a  catalogue  of  the  books  he  has  to  read  and  consult.  I  am  perfectly 
appalled  when  I  go  into  the  dining-room  and  see  all  the  folios, 
quartos,  and  duodecimos  with  which  it  is  literally  filled,  and  the 
poor  culprit  himself  sitting  in  the  midst,  with  a  beard  as  long  and 
red  as  an  adult  carrot,  for  he  lias  not  shaved  for  a  fortnight." 

Of  all  the  friends  to  whom  he  applied  for  counsel  in  this  time  of 
anxiety,  there  was  none  on  whom  he  so  implicitly  relied,  or  who 

*  rrolVbscM    r  MdiuI  I'hilosoi'liy  in  Glasgow,  under  whom  he  haj  studied  in  ISOl. 


210  MEMOIR   OF   JOIIX    WILSOX. 

was  so  able  to  assist  him,  as  Alexander  Blair.  To  him  he  un- 
bosomed himself  in  all  the  confidence  of  friendsh  p,  and  in  several 
Ioml:;  an  i  elaborate  letters —too  long  to  be  given  entire— entered 
minutely  into  his  plans  for  the  course,  askuig  for  advice  and  sugges- 
tions with  the  eagerness  and  humiUty  of  a  pupil  to  liis  master.  He 
gives  a  list  of  the  books  he  has  got,  and  asks  his  friend  to  tell  him 
what  others  he  should  have;  what  he  thinks  of  this  and  that  theory  ; 
how  many  lectures  there  should  be  on  this  topic  and  on  that.  He 
sketches  his  own  plan  ;  how  he  is  to  commence  with  some  attractive 
and  eloquent  introductory  lectures  "  of  a  popular  though  philosoph- 
ical kind,"  so  as  to  make  a  good  impression  at  first  on  his  students, 
and  also  on  the  public.  Here  he  purposes  to  give  eight  or  ten  lec- 
tures on  the  moral  systems  of  ancient  Greece,  which  Sir  Walter 
Scott  approves  of;  and  which  he  hopes  Blair  will  also  approve  of. 
"The  subject  is  a  fine  one,  and  not  difficult  to  write  on.  These  lec- 
tures, it  might  be  hoped,  would  give  great  pleasure."*  Tlien  will 
commence  his  own  course  in  good  earnest;  six  or  more  lecturt-s  on 
the  physical  nature  of  man ;  then  twelve  more,  "  though  for  no  cau>e 
known,"  on  the  intellectual  powers.  On  this  he  wishes  to  have 
Blair's  opinion,  for  at  present  he  sees  nothing  for  it  but  to  tread  in 
the  steps  of  Reid  and  Stewart;  "which  to  avoid,  would  be  of  great 
importance."  "Surely,"  he  says,  "we  m  ly  contrive  to  write  with 
more  spirit  and  effect  than  either  of  them  ;  with  less  formality,  less 
caution ;  for  Stewart  seems  terrified  to  place  one  foot  before  an 
other."  Then  might  come  some  lectures  on  taste  and  genius  before 
coming  to  the  moral  being.  "  I  believe  something  is  always  said 
of  tliem;  and  perhaps  ui  six  lectures,  something  eloquent  and  plejxs- 
ing  might  be  made  out."  Let  Blair  consider  the  subject.  That 
brings  us  up  to  forty  lectures.  Then  comes  the  moral  nature,  the 
afiections,  and  conscience,  or  "  whatever  name  that  faculty  may  be 
called."  Here  seems  fine  ground  for  descriptions  of  the  operations 
of  the  passions  and  afiections,  and  all  concerned  with  them.  That 
I'cquires  twelve  lectures  at  least;  "indeed  that  is  too  few,  thougli, 
perhaps,  all  that  could  Ije  afforded."  Then  comes  the  Will  and  all 
its  problems,  requiring  at  least  six  lectures.  "  But  here  I  am  also  in 
the  dark."     One  more  lecture,  on  man's  spiritual  nature,  gives  us 

*  That  anticipation  was  correct.  No  part  of  the  com-se,  I  am  informeil,  was  more  valued  by  nis 
Btudents.  His  lecture  on  Socrates,  in  particular,  was  considered  one  of  his  masterpieces  in  elo- 
iuecr«  aud  pathos. 


Tin:  m>)i;ai.  I'iiiLusoriiY  ciiAUi.  ^  217 

fifty-eight  ill  all.  The  rest  of  the  course  will  embrace  fifty  lectures 
respecting  the  duties  of  the  human  being.  "  I  would  fain  hope  that 
eoiiiethiiig  different  from  the  common  metaphysical  lectures  will 
produce  itself  out  of  this  plan."  He  will  read  on,  and  "attend  most 
religiously  to  the  suggestions"  of  his  friend.  Let  his  friend  meaji- 
time  consider  every  thing,  and  remember  how  short  the  time  is  ;  and 
that  unless  he  does  great  tilings  for  him,  and  work  with  him,  the 
Professor  is  lost.  "  I  am  never  out  of  the  house,"  he  adds,  ''  and 
may  not  be  till  winter."  He  is  very  unwell,  and  has  just  got  out 
of  bed ;  "but  the  belief  that  you  will  certainly  be  here  at  the  time  I 
fixed,  and  that  you  certainly  will  get  me  through,  has  enabled  me 
to  rise."  So  the  letter  ends  that  day  Avith  a  "  God  bless  you!" 
and  the  next  begins  with  a  recommendation  to  Blair  to  read  Stew- 
art's argument  against  the  Edinburgh  lleviewer's  assertion,  that 
the  study  of  Mental  Philosophy  has  produced  nothing,  and  imparted 
no  power.  He  thinks  "that  both  Jelirey  and  Stewart  are  wrong, 
jirobably,  however,  Stewart  most  so;"  but  Blair  must  examine  it, 
"for  it  i.s  a  subject  on  which  you  could  at  once  see  the  truth."  Let 
him  also  see  what  Stewart  says  on  the  origin  of  knowledge,  "  which 
seems  worth  reading;"  "indeed,"  he  adds,  "these  essays,  though, 
1  believe,  not  generally  so  highly  thought  of,  seem  to  me  to  be  the 
best  of  all  Stewart's  writings.  But  I  am  a  miserable  judge."*  He 
then  goes  on  with  the  sketch  of  the  course.  "Man's  relations  to 
God — Natural  Theology,  will  require  say  eight  lectures.  Then  his 
relations  to  man,  and  first,  the  natural  relations,  say  twelve  lectures; 
then  the  relations  of  Adoption  and  Institution,  not  less  than  fifteen  ; 
this  dei)aitment  to  embrace  discussions  about  Government,  Punish- 
ments, and  Poor-laws.  This  gives  us  thirty-three  lectures,  leaving 
seventeen  for  the  discussion  of  Virtues  and  Vices,  the  different 
Schemes  of  moral  approbation,  and  other  important  questions;  lit- 
tle enough  space."  These  make  up  in  all  one  hundred  and  eight 
lectures,  which  he  thinks  Avill  be  about  the  number  required.  "  I 
have  got  notes,"  he  says,  "  of  Stewart's  lectures,  but  they  are  dull ; 
they  are  but  feeble  shadows  of  his  published  M'orks,  on  which  he 
bestowed  incredible  pains."     He  inquires  about  Mylne's  lectures. 

*  This  is  one  of  many  illustrations  of  the  Professor's  genuine  humility.  The  egotism  and  self- 
complacency  of  Christopher  North  were  as  ideal  as  that  personage  himself.  He  appears  in  truth 
to  have  been,  in  metaphysics  as  in  literature,  a  most  acute  critic ;  and  some  papers  by  hiin  in 
Blacl.-wouJ,  on  Berkeley's  Philosophy,  were,  I  believe,  referred  to  by  Sir  William  llamiltoi  at 
admirable  speciuions  of  nu-taphvsiuil  discussion. 


21S  MEMOIR    OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

"  I  believe  he  tolloNved  the  French,  for  be  hated  Reid.  But  though 
an  acute  man,  I  cannot  think  be  bad  any  wisdom  ;  he  was  contin- 
ually nibliiing  at  the  shoe-latchets  of  the  mighty."  He  again  recurs 
to  Stewart's  Essays,  which  Blair  is  to  read  and  consider,  "but  only 
in  the  conviction  that  it  is  necessary  for  us,  which  it  seems  to  be. 
The  truth  is,  that  metaphysics  must  not  be  discarded  entirely,  for 
my  enemies  will  give  out  that  I  discard  them  because  I  do  not  un- 
derstand them.  I  want,  on  the  contrary,  in  the  midst  of  my  popu- 
lar views,  ;ind  in  general,  to  show  frequently  a  metaphysical  power, 
of  which,  perhaps,  Stewart  himself  does  not  possess  any  very  extra- 
ordinaiy  share.  In  the  first  lecture  on  the  Physical  Being  of  Man 
this  must  be  kept  in  view." 

This  letter  is  dated  August  7th,  so  that  it  would  appear  that 
already,  in  the  course  of  a  fortnight,  the  Professor-elect  had  gone 
pretty  deep  into  his  subject,  and  even  got  the  length  of  having  a 
complete  outline  of  his  proposed  course  nearly  matured.  His  good 
friend  Blair  was  not  found  wanting  in  this  crisis,  and  appears  to 
have  faithfully  complied  with  his  wishes,  sending  a  regular  series  of 
letters,  embodying,  in  the  form  of  answers  and  suggestions,  the  re- 
sults of  liis  profound  and  varied  study  of  philosophy,  ancient  and 
modern.  Of  these  letters  I  have  no  s[»ecimen  to  give  ;  but  there  is 
another  of  my  father's  sufficiently  interesting  to  be  quoted  entire. 
He  is  at  this  time  apparently  (for  it  is  without  date)  far  advanced 
in  his  preparations,  and  has  reached  that  part  of  his  course  where 
the  inquiry  passed  from  the  region  of  morals  into  that  of  religion. 

"  My  dearest  Blair  :— I  would  fain  hope  that  your  useful  and 
enabling  letters  do  not  interfere  too  much  with  your  own  pursuits, 
whatever  these  may  be.  The  morning  that  brings  me  a  legible 
sibylline  leaf,  is  generally  followed  by  a  more  quiet-minded  day. 

"  I  wish  you  to  send  me  two  or  three  letters,  if  possible,  on  that 
division  of  the  passions  regarding  religion.  It  is  imperfectly  done, 
and  altogether  the  whole  subject  of  Natural  Theology  and  our  du- 
ties to  the  Deity  is  heavy.  However,  I  have  remedied  that  in  some 
measure,  and  will  do  so  still  more  this  session.  What  I  direct  your 
attention  to  is  the  History  of  Idolatry.  Some  views  of  its  dreadful, 
beautiful,  reverent,  voluptuous  character  and  kind;  and  some  fine 
things  in  the  mythological  system  of  the  Greeks,  in  as  far  as  feeling, 
passion,  or  imaginatiun  were  concerned.      Every  thing  historical 


THE    MORAL    l'IIIL(  )!=OPIlY    CUAIR. 


219 


and  applied  to  nations  gives  .1  lecture  instant  effect.  Wlmtever  be 
the  true  history  of  all  idolatry  (Bryant's  or  others),  still  the  mind 
operated  strongly,  and  there  was  not  a  passive  transmission.  The 
impersonalizing  of  imagination  might  be  expatiated  on  here,  for  it 
was  only  alluded  to  in  this  respect  in  the  Lectures  on  Imagination. 
I  wish  to  see  stated  an  opinion  as  to  the  power  of  religion  in  the 
ancient  world,  i.  e.,  in. Egypt  and  Greece,  among  men  in  general. 
Something  of  the  same  kind,  whatever  it  was,  must  have  existed 
and  still  must  exist  in  Christian  countries  among  the  ordinary  peo- 
ple, especially  in  ignorant  and  bigoted  forms  of  the  faith.  The 
image- worsliip  of  Catholics  is,  I  presume,  susceptible  of  the  holiest 
emotions  of  an  abstract  piety ;  certainly  of  the  tenderest  of  a  human 
religion,  and  in  grosser  and  narrower  minds,  of  almost  every 
thought  that  formed  the  faith  of  an  ancient  heathen.  Many  saints, 
intercessors,  priests,  etc.,  I  mean  no  abuse  of  the  Catholic  faith,  for 
I  regard  the  doctrines  of  penitence  and  absolution  and  confession 
as  moral  doctrines,  and  I  wish  you  would  so  consider  them  in  an 
instructive  letter.  The  burden  of  guilt  is  fatal,  and  relief  from  it 
may  often  restore  a  human  soul  to  virtue.  Confession  to  a  friend, 
to  one's  own  soul,  to  an  elder  brother,  to  a  father,  to  a  holy,  old, 
white-haired  man  (in  short,  the  best  view  of  it),  is  surely  a  moral 
thing,  and,  as  such,  ought  to  be  described.  Our  religious  feelings, 
when  justly  accordant  Avith  the  best  faith,  may  be  opposite,  but 
true  :  the  simple,  austere  worship  of  a  Presbyterian,  and  the  richer 
one  of  an  Episcopalian,  and  the  still  more  pompous  sanctities  of 
Popery.  There  are  deep  foundations,  and  wide  ones  too,  in  the 
soul,  on  which  manifold  religions  may  be  all  established  in  truth. 
We  are  now  speaking  not  on  the  question  of  bestness,  but  as  to 
fact.  Surely  the  astronomer  may  Avorship  God  in  the  stars  and  the 
manifest  temple  of  heaven,  as  well  as  a  Scotch  elder  in  a  worm-eaten 
pew,  in  an  ugly  kirk  of  an  oblong  form,  sixty  by  foity  feet ;  yet  the 
elder  is  a  true  man  and  pure.  Sacraments  in  glorious  cathedrals, 
or  upon  a  little  green  hillside,  which  I  myself  have  seen,  but  cannot 
describe,  as  you  could  do,  who  have  never  seen  it;*  and,  above  all, 
iimerals ;  the  English  service,  so  affecting  and  sublime,  and  the 
Scotch  service,  silent,  wordless,  bni*e,  and  desolate — dust  to  dust  in 
tiie  speechless,  formless  sorrow  of  a  soul.     In  that  endless  emana- 

*  \\i:  bail,  howovpr,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  described  such  .1  scene  with  exquisite  fidelity,  in 
Peter's  Letters,  voL  iii.,  p.  T5. 


220  MEMOIR    OF   JOHN    AVILSON. 

tion  of  feelings,  how  can  reason  presume  to  dictate  any  one  para- 
mount rule  to  be  observed  ?  No.  But  when  by  various  causes  in 
any  nation  one  tendency  runs  the  one  way,  tlien  tlio  heart  of  that 
nation  luns  in  that  channel ;  all  its  most  holy  aspirations  join  there, 
and  there  the  sanctity  of  walls  consecrated  by  the  bishops  of  God, 
and  the  sanctity  of  walls  consecrated  by  no  set  forms  of  words,  but 
by  the  dedication  of  the  place  to  regular  and  severe  piety, — as  in 
England,  the  one  ;  in  Scotland,  the  other  *  In  Scotland,  people  on 
"week-days  walk  hatted  into  churches.  Is  that,  to  your  mind,  an 
allowable  thing  ?  I  have  seen  it  done  by  very  religious  old  men, 
and  not  harsh  or  sullen.  To  take  off  their  hats  would,  I  think,  be 
reckoned  by  many  a  wrong  action.  This,  I  conceive,  is  allowing 
the  inferior  motive  to  prevail  over  the  sujterior.  For  they  remem- 
ber the  idolatrous  practices  of  the  papists  whom  John  Knox  over- 
threw, and  rather  than  resemble  them  in  any  degree,  they  violate 
the  religio  loci.,  \\hich  is,  in  the  case,  this  over  belief  in  God.  This 
may  seem  a  trifling  concern  to  you,  but  it  hurts  me. 

"  In  the  above  you  will  probably  see  what  I  want,  and  perhaps 
other  points  may  occur  to  yourself.  With  respect  to  metaphysics, 
do  not  fear  on  any  subject  to  write,  provided  a  conclusion  is  «;•- 
rived  at.  No  letter  of  yours,  if  filled.,  can  be  otherwise  than  most 
useful  to  me.  That  metaphysical  point  to  which  you  referred  in 
one  of  your  letters  lately,  namely,  the  pure  and  awful  idea  of  sanc- 
tity and  reverence  to  God,  which  is  pj'obably  only  an  extension  of 
a  human  feeling,  is  exactly  fit  for  a  letter.  There  is  a  book  called 
the  Divine  Analogy.,  by  a  Bishop  Brown,  that  I  do  not  understand, 
on  this  subject.  I  think  you  have  seen  it ;  and  Copleston,  I  think, 
touches  on  it.  I  intend  to  put  such  pieces  of  the  lectures  on  the 
Duties  to  God,  as  are  good,  into  this  part,  so  that  any  metaphysical 
or  otherwise  im])ortant  thoughts  on  our  religious  emotions  or 
thoughts  will  be  useful.  All  human  emotion  towards  human  beings 
is  fluctuating,  and  made  up  of  opposite  ingredients,  even  towards 
our  earthly  father :  towards  God,  immingled  and  one,  and  this  un- 
mingledness  and  oneness  is  in  truth  a  new  emotion  ;  it  exists  no- 
where else.  Men's  conduct  seldom  shows  this  ;  but  it  is  hi  the  soul 
of  many,  most  men.  I  once  saw,  in  a  dream,  a  most  beautiful 
flower,  in  a  wide  bed  of  flowei-s,  all  of  which  were  beautiful.  But 
this  one  flower  was  especially  before  my  soul  for  a  while,  as  I  ad- 

*  This  niilijcct  is  bcaiilirnllv  trt-utoil  l>\  him  in  tlic  first  nunibc-.rot  the  "Dies  Iloreales," 


THIi    MORAL    rniLOSOPHY    CHAIK. 


221 


vaiiced  towards  the  place  where  they  all  were  growing.  Its  char- 
acter became  more  and  more  transcendent  as  I  approached,  and  the 
one  large  flower  of  which  it  consisted  was  lifted  up  considerably 
above  the  rest.  I  then  saw  that  it  was  Light,  a  prismatic  globe, 
quite  steady,  and  burning  with  a  purity  and  sweetness,  and  almost 
an  affectionate  spirit  of  beauty,  as  if  it  were  alive.  I  never  thought 
of  touching  it,  although  still  I  thought  it  a  flower  that  was  grow- 
ing ;  and  I  heard  a  kind  of  sound,  faint  and  dim,  as  the  echo  of 
musical  glasses,  that  seemed  to  proceed  from  the  flower  of  light, 
and  pervade  the  whole  bank  with  low,  spiritual  music.  On  trying 
to  remember  its  appearance  and  essential  beauty  more  distinctly,  1 
am  una1)le  even  to  reconceive  to  myself  what  it  Avas,  whether  alto- 
gether different  froni  the  other  flowers,  or  of  some  perfectly  glo- 
rious representation  of  them  all ;  not  the  queen  of  flowers,  l)ut  the 
star  of  flowers,  or  flower-star.  Now,  as  I  did  not,  I  presume,  see 
this  .'shining,  silent,  prismatic,  vegetable  creature,  I  myself  created 
it,  and  it  was  'the  same,  but,  ah,  how  difierent'  of  the  imagination, 
mingling  light  with  leaf,  stones  with  roses,  decaying  with  undecay- 
ing,  heaven  with  earth,  and  eternity  with  time.  Yet  the  product, 
nothing  startling,  or  like  a  phenomenon  that  urged  to  inquiry, 
What  is  this  ?  but  beheld  in  perfect  acquiescence  in  its  existence 
as  a  thing  intensely  and  delightfully  beautiful ;  but  in  whose  per- 
ception and  emotion,  of  whose  earthly  and  heavenly  beauty,  my 
beliolding  spirit  was  satisfied,  oh  !  far  more  than  satisfied,  so  purer 
than  dew  or  light  of  this  earth  ;  yet  as  certainly  and  permanently 
existing  as  myself  existed,  or  the  common  flower.-^,  themselves  most 
fair,  that  lay,  a  usual  spring  assemblage  in  a  garden  where  human 
hands  worked,  and  mortal  beings  walked,  among  the  umbrage  of 
perisliable  trees  !  Perhaps  we  see  and  feel  thus  in  heaven,  and  even 
the  Alexander  Blair  whom  I  loved  well  on  earth,  may  be  thus  pro- 
portionally loved  by  rae  in  another  life.     Yours  forever, 

'^J.  W." 

Among  other  friends  to  whom  he  resorted  for  advice  at  this  time, 
was  his  well-beloved  teacher.  Professor  Jardine.  The  judicious 
"  Hints"  of  the  old  man  are  given  with  characteristic  method  and 
kindhness,  but  scarcely  call  for  publication  here.  So  far  as  the 
order  of  the  course  was  concerned,  my  father  preferred  to  follow 
his  t  V'.  j»lan,  as  sketched  in  his  first  letter  to  Blair.     To  that  plan, 


222  MEMOIK   OF   JOJIN    ■\VILSON. 

T  believe,  he  adhered  ever  after,  though,  in  important  respects,  he 
completely  altered,  in  subsequent  years,  the  substance  of  his  lec- 
tures. 

The  opening  of  a  new  session  is  always  an  mteresting  occasion, 
and  when  it  is  the  professor's  first  appearance  the  interest  is  of 
course  intensified.  The  crowd  that  assembled  to  hear  my  fiilher's 
introductory  lecture  proved  too  numerous  for  the  dimensions  of  the 
room,  and  it  was  found  necessary  to  adjourn  to  the  more  capacious 
class-room  of  Dr.  Monro,  the  Professor  of  Anatomy.  Wilson 
entered,  accompanied  by  Principal  Baird,  Professors  Home,  Jame- 
son, and  Hope  in  their  gowns,  "  a  thing  Ave  believe  quite  unusual," 
remarked  the  Scotsman,  in  whose  eyes  this  trifling  mark  of  respect 
seemed  a  kind  of  insult  to  the  audience,  composed  as  it  was,  to  a 
large  extent,  of  persons  prepared  to  give  the  new  Professor  any 
thing  but  a  cordial  greeting.  An  eye-witness*  thus  describes  tlie 
scene: — "There  was  a  furious  bitterness  of  feeling  against  him 
among  the  classes  of  which  probably  most  of  his  pupils  would  con- 
sist, and  although  I  had  no  prospect  of  being  among  them,  I  went 
to  his  first  lecture,  prepared  to  join  in  a  cabal,  which  I  understood 
was  formed  to  put  him  down.  The  lecture-room  was  crowded  to 
the  ceiling.  Such  a  collection  of  hard-browed,  scowling  Scotsmen, 
muttering  over  their  knobsticks,  I  never  saw.  The  Professor 
entered  Avith  a  bold,  step,  amid  profound  silence.  Every  one  ex- 
pected some  deprecatory  or  propitiatory  introduction  of  himself 
and  his  subject,  upon  which  the  mass  was  to  decide  against  him, 
reason  or  no  reason  ;  but  he  began  in  a  voice  of  thunder  right  into 
the  matter  of  his  lecture,  kept  up  unflinchingly  and  unhesitatingly, 
without  a  pause,  a  flow  of  rhetoric  such  as  Dugald  Stewart  or 
Thomas  Brown,  his  predecessors,  never  delivered  in  the  same  place. 
Not  a  word,  not  a  murmur  escaped  his  captivated,  I  ought  to  say 
his  conquered  audience,  and  at  the  end  they  gave  him  a  right-down 
uiinnimnns  burst  of  ajiplause.  Those  Avho  came  to  scofi"  remained 
to  praise." 

Another  spectator  of  the  scene  tells  me  that  towards  the  conclu- 
sion of  the  lecture,  the  commencement  of  which  had  been  delayed 
by  the  circumstance  already  mentioned,  the  Professor  was  ititer- 
rupted  in  the  midst  of  an  eh)quent  peroration  by  the  sudden  entrance 
of  Dr.  Monro's  tall  figure — enveloped  as  usual  in  his  long  Avhite 

*  The  author  of  TIte  Tvco  Cosmos  :  MS.  letter. 


Tllli    MtillAL    riirLOSOl'IIY    CIIAlli.  223 

greatcoat — to  announce  tliat  bis  hour  Lad  come.  Pulling  out  liis 
watch,  the  unsyuipathizing  anatomist  addressed  him  :  "Sir,  it's  past 
one  o'dock,  and  my  students  are  at  the  door;  you  nmst  conclude." 
Tlie  orator,  thus  rudely  cut  short,  had  some  difficulty  in  preserving 
his  S('lt-])Ossessioii,  and,  after  a  few  sentences  more,  sat  down. 

The  lirst  lecture  and  those  which  followed  amply  justified  the 
expectations  of  friends,  and  completely  silenced  enemies.  Even 
the  unfriendly  critic  above  referred  to,  while  attempting  to  dispar- 
age this  first  display  of  his  powers,  patronizingly  assured  the  new 
Proic'ssor  that  if  he  made  the  exertions  he  had  promised,  and  de- 
meaned hhnselfas  became  the  successor  of  Ferguson,  Brown,  and 
Stewai't,  his  past  errors  might  be  forgotten,  and  he  might  obtain 
that  public  confidence  which  Avas  essential  to  his  success  as  a 
teacher.  No  such  exhortations  were  needed  to  make  Wilson  feel 
the  gravity  of  his  position,  and  stimulate  him  to  maintain  the  glory 
of  the  University,  on  which  for  the  next  thirty-one  years  he  reflected 
so  much  lustre.  When  he  uttered  the  confident  prediction,  "1 
shall  be  professor  to  my  dying  day,"  it  was  in  no  boastful  spirit. 
lie  had  made  up  his  mind  to  devote  his  full  strength  to  the  duties 
of  the  office,  and  with  all  his  distrust  of  his  own  metaphysical 
capacity,  he  had  a  reasonable  confidence  in  his  ability  to  make  the 
Moral  Philosophy  class-room,  as  it  had  been  before  him,  a  place  of 
high  and  ennobling  influence.  To  himself  personally  the  change  of 
position  brought  with  it  a  consolidation  of  character  and  aims 
which  imparted  new  dignity  to  his  life  and  at  the  same  time  in- 
creased his  happiness.  In  assuming  the  Professor's  gown  he  did 
not  indeed  think  it  necessary,  had  that  been  possible,  to  divest  him- 
self of  his  proper  characteristics,  to  be  less  fond  of  sport,  less  lively 
with  his  pen.  His  literary  activity  and  influence  increased  in  the 
years  that  followed  this,  for  "  Christopher  North"  was  as  yet  but 
a  dimly-figured  personage.  But  from  this  time  "The  Professor"  is 
his  j)eculiar,  his  most  prized  title ;  the  Chair  is  the  place  where  he 
fet'ls  his  highest  work  to  be.  I  believe  the  prejudices  and  hostility 
which  obstructed  his  way  to  it,  however  triumphantly  overcome, 
threw  tlieir  shadows  fo'ward  more  than  is  generally  supposed. 
For,  while  no  one  could  gainsay  the  fidelity  with  which  he  dis- 
charged his  duty,  and  the  altogether  unrivalled  eloquence  of  his  lec- 
tures, I  believe  there  were  always  some  people  who  believed  that 
he  was  nothing  more  than  a  splendid  declaimer,  and  that  his  course 


224:  MiaioiK  OF  JOHN  ^YILsoN. 

of  lectures  contuincd  more  poetry  than  pliilosopliy.  lie  was  him- 
self aware  of  this,  and  refers  to  it  in  a  letter  to  De  Quineey,  in 
Avliich  he  naively  asks  his  friend  to  describe  him  as  "•  thoroughly 
logical  and  argumentative,"  which,  he  says,  "is  true ;  not  a  rhetori- 
cian, as  fools  aver."  The  truth  is,  liis  poetical  and  literaiy  fame  in- 
jured him  in  this  respect  as  a  lecturer;  commonplace  people  think- 
ing it  impossible  that  a  man  could  be  both  logical  and  eloquent,  an 
acute  metaj)hysician  as  well  as  a  brilliant  humorist.  But  among 
Lis  own  students  generally  there  was  but  one  opinion  of  "  The  Pro- 
fessor ;"  to  them  he  was  truly  Der  Einzige.  Other  professors 
enjoyed  their  respect  and  esteem ;  Wilson  took  their  hearts  as  well 
as  their  imaginations  by  storm.  They  may  have  before  this  read 
and  argued  about  philosophy ;  they  were  now  made  to  feel  it  as  a 
])Ower.  "The  mental  faculties"  were  no  mere  names;  the  passions 
and  aifections,  and  the  dread  mysteries  of  conscience,  ceased  to  be 
abstract  matters  of  speculation,  and  were  exhibited  before  them  as 
living  and  solemn  realities  mirrored  in  their  own  kindling  breasts ; 
and  when  they  found  that  that  formidable  personage,  of  whom  they 
had  heard  so  much,  and  whose  aspect,  as  he  stood  before  them  (he 
never  sat),  did  not  belie  his  fame,  was  in  private  the  most  accessible, 
frank,  and  kindly  of  men,  their  admiration  was  turned  into  enthusi- 
astic love.  There  are  few  who  listened  to  him,  whether  in  the 
palmy  days  of  his  prime,  or  in  the  evening  of  life,  when  he  came  to 
be  sp(jken  of  as  "  the  old  man  eloquent,"  that  do  not  speak  of  him 
with  glowing  cheek  and  sparkling  eye,  as  they  recall  the  cherished 
recollections  of  his  moving  eloquence,  his  irresistible  humor,  his 
eager  interest  in  their  studies  and  their  welfare,  his  manly  freedom 
of  criticism,  and  his  large-hearted  generosity.  The  readiness  Avith 
which  he  grasfted  at  any  question  put  to  him  gave  his  manner  a 
quickness  and  animation  of  expression  that  at  first  was  somewhat 
startling.  While  he  had  a  terrible  faculty  for  snubbing  any  display 
of  conceit  or  forwardness,  diffident  talent  was  set  at  ease  in  his 
presence  by  the  winning  sympathy  of  his  look  and  manner,  which  at 
once  infused  confidence  and  hope.  But  I  am  anticipating  what  will 
form  the  subject  of  a  special  chapter,  and  shall  now  close  this  witii 
a  brief  letter,  addressed  to  his  friend  Mr.  Smith,  on  Christmas  day, 
)820:— 

"Mr  DEAK  Siu:— If  you  can  send  me  instantlg^  i.  e.,  by  the  re- 


THK    PROFESSOR    AND    HIS    CLASS.  225 

turn  of  mail  or  coach,  Vince's  '  Refutation  of  Atheism,'  you  will 
greatly  oblige  me.  It  is  not  in  Edinburgh.  Unless,  however,  you 
can  send  it  immediately,  it  will  be  useless  to  me. 

"  I  have  no  time  to  write.  We  liave  ten  days  of  vacation,  and 
I  resume  my  lectures  on  January  2d.  I  have  delivered  thirty  lec- 
tures, and  am  now  advancing  to  the  moral  division  of  my  course. 
As  far  as  I  can  leai-n,  ray  friends  highly  applaud,  and  my  worst 
foes  are  dumb  or  sulky.  The  public,  I  believe,  are  satisfied.  I 
need  not  say  that  my  labor  is  intense.  Direct  to  me  at  No.  53 
Queen  street,  where  I  send  for  my  letters  every  day ;  and  if  you 
have  time,  tell  me  how  you  are,  and  what  doing.     Yours  very  truly, 

"  Joiix  WiLSOX." 


CHAPTER    X. 

THE      PROFESSOR      AND      HIS       CLASS. 

It  was  no  temporary  enthusiasm  that  glorified  the  name  of  "  the 
Professor"  among  his  Students,  and  still  keeps  his  memory  green 
in  hearts  that  have  long  ago  outlived  the  romantic  ideals  of  youth. 
One  of  the  most  pleasing  results  of  my  labor  has  been  to  come 
upon  traces  everywhere  of  the  love  and  admiration  with  which  my 
father  is  remembered  by  those  who  attended  his  class.  That  re- 
membrance is  associated  in  some  instances  with  sentiments  of  the 
most  unbounded  gratitude  for  help  and  counsel  given  in  the  most 
critical  times  of  a  young  man's  life.  How  much  service  of  this  sort 
was  rendered  during  an  academical  connection  of  thirty  years,  may 
be  estimated  as  something  more  to  be  thought  of  than  the  proudest 
literary  fame.  So,  I  doubt  not,  my  father  felt,  though  on  that  sub- 
ject, or  on  any  claims  he  had  earned  for  individual  gratitude,  he 
was  never  heard  to  speak.  Of  his  merits  as  a  te;icher  of  moral 
pliilosopliy  I  am  not  speaking,  and  cannot  pretend  to  give  any 
critical  estimate.  I  leave  that  to  more  competent  hiuids.  What  I 
speak  of  is  his  relation  to  his  students  beyond  the  formal  business 
of  the  class ;  for  it  is  that,  I  think,  that  constitutes,  as  much  as  the 
quality  of  the  lectures  delivered,  the  diiference  between  one  teacher 


220  MEMOIR    or   JOHN    WILSON. 

and  another.  Here  M-as  a  poot,  an  orator,  a  pliiiosopher,  fitted  in 
any  one  of  these  characters  to  excite  the  interest  and  respect  of 
Youthful  liearers.  But  it  was  not  those  (]ualities  alone  or  chiefly 
th;it  called  forth  the  affectionate  hom.-ige  of  so  many  hearts  ;  what 
knit  them  to  the  Professor  was  the  heart  they  found  in  him,  the 
large  and  generous  soul  of  a  man  that  could  be  resorted  to  and 
relied  on,  as  well  as  I'espected  and  admired.  No  man  ever  had  a 
deeper  and  kindlier  sympathy  with  the  feelings  of  youth  ;  none 
could  be  prompter  and  siucerer  to  give  advice  and  assistance  when 
required.  Himself  endowed  with  that  best  gift,  a  heart  th:it  never 
grew  old,  he  could  still,  when  things  were  no  longer  with  him  "  as 
they  had  been  of  yore,"  enter  into  the  thoughts  and  aspirations  of 
those  starting  fresh  in  life,  and  give  them  encouragement,  and  ex- 
change ideas  with  them,  in  no  strained  or  formal  fashion.  No 
wonder  that  such  a  man  was  popular,  that  his  name  is  still  dear, 
and  awakens  a  thrill  of  filial  affection  and  pride  in  the  hearts  of  men 
who  once  knew  him  as  their  preceptor  and  friend. 

I  should  have  liked  much,  had  I  been  able,  to  give  some  account 
of  the  Professor's  lectures,*  and  his  appearance  in  his  class.     But  I 

*  The  following  is  the  Syllabus  of  his  course,  drawn  up  by  the  Professor  for  the  Edinburgh 
Univerxiiy  Almanac^  a.!,  i\e\\\L'r'it(\  in  the  session  1S33-4,  apparently  the  same  in  arrangement  as 
orisrinally  determined  on  in  his  consultations  with  his  friend  lilair.  In  what  year  he  remodelled 
his  course,  having  previously  remodelled  his  views  on  the  great  question  of  the  nature  of  the 
Moral  Faculty,  1  have  not  ascertained.  It  was  at  least  subsequent  to  the  year  1S3T,  to  which  Mr. 
Smith's  sketch  refers.  In  later  years  he  began  in  his  first  lecture  with  the  subject  of  the  Moral 
Faculty,  the  discussion  of  which  extended,  Mr.  Nicolson  informs  me,  over  thirty-seven  lectures, 
occupying  the  time  from  the  commencement  of  the  session  in  November  to  the  Christmas  recess : 

"moral   PIULOSOI'IIY. 

"  This  ClitsH  meets  at  Twelve  o'clock. 

"Moral  Philosophy  attempts  to  ascertain,  as  far  as  human  reason  can  do  so,  the  law  which 
must  regulate  the  conduct  of  Man  as  a  moral  being.  Inasmuch  as  it  does  not  derive  this  l.iw 
from  any  authority,  but  endeavors  to  deduce  it  from  i)rinciples  founded  in  the  nature  of  things,  it 
takes  the  name  of  a  science.     It  may  be  called  the  Science  of  Duty. 

"  The  first  object,  therefore,  will  be  to  find  those  principles  on  which  this  law  of  duty  must  be 
grounded.  For  this  purpose  we  have  to  consider — 1st.  The  nature  of  the  human  being  who  is  the 
subject  of  siu-h  a  law;  and  "id.  The  relations  in  which  he  is  placed;  his  nature  and  his  relations 
concuning  to  <leteruiine  the  character  of  his  moral  obligations. 

"  When  the  nature  of  man  has  been  consi<lered,  and  also  the  various  relations  of  which  he  is 
capable,  we  shall  have  fully  before  us  the  ground  of  all  his  moral  obligations;  and  it  will  remain 
to  show  what  they  are.  to  deduce  the  law  which  the  princi|)les  we  shall  have  obtained  will  assign 
But  when  we  shall  have  gone  over  the  examination  of  his  nature,  the  mere  st:itenient  of  his  re- 
hitions  will  so  unavoidably  include  the  idea  of  the  duties  that  spring  from  them,  that  it  would 
be  doing  a  sort  of  violence  to  the  understanding  to  sei)arate  them ;  and  therefore  the  consideration 
of  his  Duties  will  be  included  in  the  Second  Division  of  the  Course. 

"  But  the  performance  of  duty  does  not  necess.arily  tidvc  place  ui)on  its  being  known.  There  are 
diUJcuHies  and  impediments  which  arise  in  the  weaknesses,  the  p;issions,  the  whole  character  of 
him  who  is  to  perform  it.   lleuce  there  arises  a  separate  incjuiry  into  the  means  to  which  man  is  to 


THE    I'KOFEoSOR   AND    HIS    CLASS.  227 

am  saved  the  risk  of  attempting  to  describe  what  I  have  not  seen, 
and  cannot  be  expected  to  be  skilled  in,  by  the  sketches  with  which 
I  have  been  favored  from  men  well  able  to  do  justice  to  the  sub- 
ject, so  far  as  any  sketch  can  be  supposed  to  do  justice  to  an 
eloquence  that  required  to  be  heard  in  order  to  be  appreciated.    Of 

resort,  to  enable  him  to  discharge  his  known  obliu'ations.  There  must  be  a  resolved  and  deliberate 
dubjection  of  himself  to  the  known  Moral  Law  ;  and  an  imiiiiry,  therefore,  into  the  necessity, 
nature,  and  means  of  Moral  Self-government,  will  furnish  the  Third  and  last  Division  of  the 
Course. 

"  In  the  Firni  Division  of  the  Course,  then,  we  consider  the  constitution  of  the  Iliinian  Being, 
lie  has  a  Physical  Natuue,  the  most  perfect  of  any  that  is  given  to  the  kinds  of  living  creatures, 
of  which  he  is  one,  infinitely  removed  as  he  is  from  all  the  rest.  He  has  an  Intelligence  by  which 
he  is  connected  with  higher  orders  of  beings;  he  has  a  Moual  Natueb  by  which  he  communi- 
cates with  God;  he  has  a  Si'iiutval  Essente  by  which  he  is  immortal. 

"All  these  natures  and  [lowers,  wonderful  in  them.selvcs,  are  mysteriously  combined.  The 
highest  created  substance  S|)irit,  and  Matter  the  lowest,  are  joined  and  even  blended  together  in 
perfect  and  beautiful  Union. 

"  We  begin  by  treating  generally  of  his  Physical  Constitction  and  Powers,  and  showing 
that  much  of  his  happiness — it  may  be  of  his  virtue — is  intimately  connected  with  their  health- 
I'ul  condition,  as  there  is  a  mutual  reaction  between  them  and  his  highest  faculties.  The  Api'E- 
TITE8  are  e.vplained,  and  the  phenomena  of  the  Senses;  and  pains  taken  to  [)ut  In  a  ch'ar  light 
the  nature  of  Simple  Sensation,  before  proceeding  to  illustrate  the  Theory  of  Pekcei-tion. 

"The  impressions  received  through  the  senses  would  be  of  no  use;  they  could  not  become 
materials  of  Thought,  if  the  mind  were  not  endowed  with  a  power  of  reproducing  them  to  it.«elf 
in  its  internal  activity ;  and  this  power  we  consider  under  the  name  of  Conception,  and  very 
fully  the  laws  by  which  its  action  is  regulated,  the  Laws  of  Association. 

"We  are  then  led  to  iiKjuire  what  is  the  Faci-lty  of  Thought  itself;  and  if  the  different 
operations  of  Judgment,  Austraction,  and  Reasoning  may  all  be  explained  as  Acts  of  this  one 
Faculty  of  Intellection. 

"Imagination  itself  seems  to  admit  of  being  resolved  into  the  union  of  this  Faculty,  with  cer- 
tain Feelings,  under  the  Law  of  Association ;  and  here  an  inquiry  is  instituted  inio  the  sources 
of  the  Sublime  and  Beautifiti.,  an  atteinpt  made  to  define  Genius  and  its  province,  .and  illus- 
trations .ire  given  of  the  Philosophy  op  Taste. 

"Looking  on  Man's  Moral  Nature,  we  seem  to  see  one  Principle  presiding  over  and  deter- 
mining the  character  of  all  the  rest;  distinguished  by  different  names,  but  which  no  other,  per- 
haps, so  well  describes  as  that  which  expresses  it  to  the  common  understandings  of  men — Cox- 
eoiENCE.  Is  it  simple  or  composite?  n.^tural  or  acquired?  In  endeavoring  to  answer  these 
questions,  we  must  take  a  review  of  all  the  most  celebrated  Moral  Systems  in  which  it  has  been 
attempted  to  explain  its  origin,  its  composition,  its  growth,  and  its  power. 

"From  the  consideration  of  this  Moral  Pri.nciple,  to  which  our  whole  mind  is  subjected,  we 
pass  on  to  those  various  Powers  of  Passion  and  Affection  which  are  placed  under  its  juris- 
diction, and  which,  in  their  endless  complexity  and  infinitely  diversified  modifications,  constitute 
the  strength  of  the  human  mind  for  action,  anil  are  the  sources  of  the  happiness,  the  sorrows,  and 
the  unfortunate  errors  of  human  life.  These  numerous  principles,  wiiUli  have  been  classed  in  dif- 
ferent manners  by  Kthical  writers,  but  of  which  no  classification  is  adiquate  to  reiireseiit  the  va- 
riety, are  very  fully  treated  of  under  such  great  and  simple  divisions  as  serve  to  mark  them  out 
for  separate  discussion  ;  an  arrangement  and  onler,  which,  whether  meUiphysically  just  or  not,  ap- 
pear to  att'o'-d  facilitiis  for  analyzing  the  processes  of  nature. 

"  In  treating  of  Man  as  a  Spiritual  Being,  we  consider  the  doctrines  of  the  Immaterialitv  and 
Immortality  of  the  Soul — doctrines  so  important  .and  interesting  that  no  argument  can  be  lost 
that  serves  to  impress  them  more  deeply,  and  so  elevated,  that  merely  to  contemplate  them,  does 
of  itself  tend  to  spiritualize  the  affection  and  imagination. 

"'I'lie  Sefouii  Division  of  the  Course  comprehends  an  inquiry  into  Man's  Relatioxs  and  Du- 
ties.    Ilis  first  RELATION  is  as  a  creature  to  the  Maker  and  Governor  of  the  World,  and 


228  MEMOIR   OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

these  various  reminiscences  I  sliuU  give  three,  in  the  order  of  the 
dates  to  wliich  tliey  respectively  relfito,  viz.,  1880,  1837,  and  1850, 
interposing  first  two  characteristic  records  of  earlier  relations 
between  the  Professor  and  his  students. 

therefore  it  becomes  necessary  to  consider,  in  the  first  (ilace,  what  we  are  able  to  know  of  the 
Attributes  of  that  Great  Being  to  whom  he  owes  his  Fikst  Duty, — a  duty  which  ig  the  foiindatinn 
of  all  otliers. 

"  The  utmost  powers  of  the  human  mind  have  always  been  directed  upon  this  great  object.  Its 
Intelligence  desires  to  know  the  Origin  of  all  things.  Its  Moral  Cnderstandinj?  impels  it  to  seek 
the  Author  of  all  order  and  law.     Its  Love  and  Happiness  carry  it  towards  the  Giver  of  all  good. 

"The  chief  doctriues  which  are  held  concerning  the  Being  and  Attributes  of  Deity,  men  have 
conceived  might  be  established  by  two  methods;  the  first  is  that  which  deduces  theui  from  the 
absolute  necessity  of  things,  prior  to  all  consideration  of  the  eft'ects  in  which  they  are  manifested, 
— the  Argument  or  Demonstkation  d  pi'iori.  The  other  method  is  that  to  which  nature  con- 
tiuually  constrains  us,  which  m.ay  be  going  on  in  our  minds  at  every  moment,  an  evidence  aM<l 
conviction  collecting  upon  us  throughout  life.  It  deduces  the  Existence  and  Attributes  of  God 
from  their  efi'ects  in  his  works,  which  our  Reason  can  ascribe  to  no  other  origin.  It  reasons  from 
effects  to  the  cause,  and  is  therefore  termed  the  Ai:(;i;.ment  d  posteriori. 

"The  great  points  established  by  both  these  moiles  of  argument  are,  in  the  first  place,  the  Ex- 
istence of  God.  his  Power,  and  his  Wisdom.  These  may  he  called  the  Attributes  which  our  Intel- 
ligence compels  us  to  understand,  and  for  which  that  faculty  is  sufficient.  But  there  are  other 
perfections  which  as  nearly  concern  us,  and  to  the  contemplation  of  which  we  are  called  by  other 
faculties  of  our  being — His  Love,  Justice,  and  liighteousuess. 

"And  here  it  appears  necessary  to  vindicate  the  argument  of  the  Evidence  of  Design  from  the 
misre|jresentalions  and  sophistries  of  certain  writers  by  whom  it  has  been  impugned,  and  to  ex- 
pose the  uuphilosophical  and  impious  spirit  of  their  ski'ijtieism. 

"When  we  h.ave  considered  the  grounds  on  which  our  natural  reason  is  convinced  of  these  attri- 
butes, the  reliitions  of  Man  to  God  are  manifest,  and  his  Duties  rise  up  in  all  their  awful  niagni- 
tu<ie  to  our  minds. 

"From  this  part  of  the  Second  Division  of  our  Course,  which  belongs  to  Natural  Theology,  we 
go  on  to  consider  the  kelations  and  duties  of  man  to  his  feluav-creatukes. 

"The  division  of  these  relations,  with  their  duties,  is  determined  upon  two  grounds,  being  op- 
posed to  each  other,  in  one  respect,  as  they  are  Prune  or  Private,  and,  in  another,  as  they  are 
simply  NATi'KAi.,  or  of  human  adoption  and  institution. 

"  By  the  private  relations,  we  understand  those  by  which  a  man  is  united  to  the  members  of  his 
own  family,  houseliold,  and  kindred,  .'is  a  son,  a  father,  a  brother,  a  kinsman,  a  m.oster.  a  servant,  a 
friend.  Undrr  each  of  these  relations,  the  particular  circumstances  attending  it,  which  constitute 
the  grounds  of  obligation,  are  considereil,  and  the  duties  arising  from  them  explicitly  and  fully 
stated,  under  the  head  of  Household  Laws. 

"By  the  PunLic  Kelations,  we  are  led  to  consider  him  as  a  Member  of  a  Political  Body. 
There  is  here  a  twofold  relation — that  of  Ruleks  and  Suiukcts.  We  shall  have  to  treat  of  tho 
Dutif.s  belonging  to  both;  as  of  Rulers,  their  first  and  especial  duty  to  maint.iin  the  Indki'end- 
ence  of  the  Community  among  other  States,  and  Good  Government  within  their  own  ;  as  of 
subjects,  the  duties  of  Allegiance  and  Obedience;  and  here  will  have  to  be  stated  the  grounds 
of  obligation  on  rulers  and  subjects,  namely,  Mutual  Benefits;  and  their  duty  to  their  Common 
Country. 

"In  the  course  of  these  inquiries,  questions  of  vast  importance  .arise  as  to  the  Oiiigin  and 
GitouNDS  OF  (Iovernment;  the  Principles  of  Legislation;  the  Principal  Forms  which  Po- 
litical Government  has  assumed  among  different  nations;  and  their  various  adaptation  to  tho 
essential  ends  for  which  they  were  con.stituted. 

"In  this  Division  of  the  Course,  all  those  various  Theories  .are  strictly  exiimined,  which  have 
been  offered  at  ditlerent  time*,  of  the  Nature  of  Virtue,  and  the  Grounds  of  Moral  Obligation — 
from  Plato  and  Aristotle,  to  Stewart  and  Brown ;  and  especial  attention  is  paid  to  the  Moral  Phi 
lusophy  of  Greece. 


THE    PK0FE3S0U    AND    1II3    CLASS.  229 

About  a  year  after  he  had  entered  upon  his  new  duties,  the  Pro 
fessor  was  rambling  during  vacation-time  in  the  south  of  Scotland, 
having  for  awhile  exchanged  the  gown  for  the  old  "Sporting 
Jacket."  On  his  return  to  Edinburgh,  he  was  obliged  to  pass  through 
Hawick,  where,  on  his  arrival,  finding  it  to  be  fair-day,  he  readily 
availed  himself  of  the  opportunity  to  witness  the  amusements  going 
on.  These  happened  to  include  a  "  little  mill"  between  two  mem- 
bers of  the  local  "  fancy."  His  interest  in  pugilism  attracted  liim 
to  the  spot,  where  lie  soon  discovered  something  very  wrong,  and 
a  degree  of  injustice  being  perpetrats'd  which  he  could  not  stand. 
It  was  the  work  of  a  moment  to  espouse  the  weaker  side,  a  proceed- 
ing which  naturally  drew  down  upon  him  the  hostility  of  the  oppo- 
site party.  This  result  was  to  him,  however,  of  little  consequence. 
There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  beat  or  be  beaten.  He  was  soon 
"in  position;"  and,  before  his  imknown  adversary  well  knew  what 
was  coming,  the  skilled  fist  of  the  Professor  had  planted  such  a 
"facer"  as  did  not  require  repetition.  Another  "  round"  was  not 
called  for;  and  leaving  the  discomfited  champion  to  recover  at  his 
leisure,  the  Professor  walked  coolly  away  to  take  his  seat  in  the 
stage-coach,  about  to  start  for  Edinburgh.  He  just  reached  it  in 
time  to  secure  a  place  inside,  where  he  found  two  young  men  already 
seated.  As  a  matter  of  course  he  entered  into  conversation  Avith 
them,  and  before  the  journey  was  half  over,  they  had  become  the 
best  friends  in  the  world.  He  asked  all  sorts  of  questions  about 
their  plans  and  prospects,  and  was  informed  they  were  going  to 
attend  College  during  the  winter  session.  Among  the  classes  men- 
tioned were  Leslie's,  Jameson's,  Wilson's,  and  some  others.  "  Oh! 
Wilson ;  he  is  a  queer  fellow,  I  am  told ;  rather  touched  here" 
(pointing  significantly  to  his  head) ;  "  odd,  decidedly  odd."  The 
lads,  sotnewhat  cautiously,  after  the  manner  of  their  country,  said 
tlicy  had  heard  strange  stories  reported  of  Professor  Wilson,  but  it 

'•In  the  Third  Division  of  the  Course,  which  runs  into  the  Second,  it  is  attempted  to  explain 
Bonie  of  the  chief  Means  by  which  Individual  and  National  Virtue  and  Happiness  may  be  strenirth- 
ened  and  guarded :  and  to  point  out  some  of  the  most  fatal  causes  of  the  Decline  and  Fall  of 
Nations. 

"  At  the  commencement  of  each  Session  several  Lectures  are  delivered,  containing  a  Prospectus 
of  the  whole  Course,  which  contiiins  a  hundred  Lectures. 

"  Kach  alternate  year  the  Professor  delivers  a  Course  of  Fifty  Lectures  on  Political  Eeeroiry. 
lie  follows,  in  a  great  measure,  the  order  observed  in  the  Wenltfi  of  Kations;  and,  in  e.xplamuig 
■.;  tli»'  doctrines  of  S.MiTii,  compares  them  with  those  of  lIiCAiioo." 


L 


230  MKMOTn    OF   .lOHX    WILSOX 

was  not  right  to  believe  every  thing ;  and  tliat  they  would  judge  for 
themselves  when  they  saw  him.  "Quite  right,  lads;  quite  right ; 
but  I  assure  you  I  know  something  of  the  fellow  myself,  and  I  think 
he  is  a  queer  devil ;  only  this  very  forenoon  at  Hawick  he  got  into  a 
row  with  a  great  lubberly  fellow  for  some  unknown  cause  of  oftence, 
and  gave  him  such  a  taste  of  his  fist  as  won't  sooubefoigotten  ;  the 
whole  place  was  ringing  with  the  story ;  I  wonder  you  did  not  hear 
of  it."  "  Well,"  rejoined  the  lads,  "  we  did  hear  something  of  the 
sort,  but  it  seemed  so  incredible  that  a  Professor  of  Moral  Philoso- 
phy should  mix  himself  up  with  disreputable  quarrels  at  a  fair,  we 
did  not  believe  it."  Wilson  looked  very  grave,  agreed  that  it  was 
certainly  a  most  unbecoming  position  for  a  Professor ;  yet  he  was 
sorry  to  say  that  having  heard  the  whole  story  from  an  eye-witness, 
it  was  but  too  true.  Dexterously  turning  the  subject,  he  very  soon 
banished  all  further  discussion  about  the  "  Professor,"  and  held  the 
deUghted  lads  enchained  in  the  interest  of  his  conversation  until  they 
reached  the  end  of  the  journey.  On  getting  out  of  the  coach,  they 
politely  asked  him,  as  he  seemed  to  know  Edinburgh  well,  if  he 
would  direct  them  to  a  hotel.  "  With  pleasure,  my  young  friends  ; 
we  shall  all  go  to  a  hotel  together ;  no  doubt  you  are  hungry  and 
ready  for  dinner,  and  you  shall  dine  with  me."  A  coach  Avas  c;dled ; 
Wilson  ordered  the  luggage  to  be  placed  outside,  and  gave  direc- 
tions to  the  driver,  who  in  a  short  time  pulled  up  at  a  very  nice- 
looking  house,  with  a  small  garden  in  front.  The  situation  was 
rural,  and  there  was  so  little  of  the  aspect  of  a  hotel  about  the  place, 
that  on  alighting,  the  lads  asked  once  or  twice,  if  they  had  come  to 
the  right  place  ?  "  All  right,  gentlemen ;  walk  in  ;  leave  your  trunks 
in  the  lobby.  I  have  settled  with  the  driver,  and  now  I  shall  order 
dinner."  No  time  was  lost,  and  very  soon  the  two  youths  were 
conversing  freely  with  their  unknown  friend,  and  enjoying  them- 
selves extremely  in  the  satisfictory  position  of  having  thus  acciden- 
tally fallen  into  such  good  company  and  good  quarters.  The  de- 
ception, however,  could  not  be  kept  up  much  longer;  and,  in  the 
course  of  the  evening,  Wilson  let  them  know  where  they  were,  tell- 
ing them  that  they  could  now  judge  for  themselves  what  sort  of  a 
fellow  "■  the  Professor"  was. 

Another  anecdote  of  holiilay-time  relates  to  a  later  period,  when 
maturer  years  had  invested  the  Professor  with  a  more  patriarchal 
dignity  and  sedatetiess.    True  to  his  love  for  spring,  he  had  selected 


THE   PROFESSOR    AND    HIS    CLASS.  2o  1 

that  season  for  an  excursion  to  the  pastoral  vales  of  Yarrow  aud 
Ettrick,  where  glittering  rivers, 

"Winding  through  the  pomp  of  cultivated  nature," 

attracted  more  than  one  poet's  admiration  ;  for  if  Wordsworth  sang 
m  verse,  Wilson  uttered  in  prose,  how  "  in  spirit  all  streams  are 
one  that  flow  through  the  forest.  Ettrick  and  Yarrow  come  rush- 
ing into  each  other's  arms,  aboon  the  haughs  o'  Selkirk,  and  then 
flow  Tweed-blent  to  the  sea."  In  the  month  of  May,  he  sent  an 
invitation  to  his  students  resident  in  the  south  of  Scotland,  to  meet 
him  at  "Tibby  Shiels's,"  where  they  were  to  Avander  a  day  with 
hira  "  to  enjoy  the  first  gentle  embrace  of  spring  in  some  solitary 
spot."  Where  could  it  have  been  better  selected  than  at  St.  Mary's 
Loch  ?  It  was  said  that  the  meeting  was  one  of  unspeakable  delight ; 
the  hills  were  adorned  with  the  freshest  green,  and  the  calm,  quiet 
lake  reflected  the  surrounding  verdure  in  its  deep  waters,  and  they 
beheld 

"  The  swan  on  still  St.  Mary's  lake, 
Float  double  swan  and  shadow." 

The  Professor  spoke  of  the  love  of  nature,  and  his  words  impressed 
them  all,  and  of  the  poet  of  Altrive,  "  our  own  shepherd,  dear  to  all 
the  rills  that  issue,  in  thousands,  from  their  own  recesses  among  the 
braes ;  for  when  a  poet  walks  through  regions  his  genius  has  sung, 
all  nature  does  him  homage,  from  cloud  to  clod — from  the  sky  to 
green  earth — all  living  creatures  therein  included,  from  eagle  to  the 
mole.  James  knows  this,  and  is  happy  among  the  hills."  And  was 
that  little  company  then  assembled  by  the  "  dowie  holms,"  not  happy 
too?  Wilson  was  in  his  brightest  mood  ;  no  one  was  oveilooked ; 
joyously  and  pleasantly  passeil  the  day;  and  before  evening  laid  its 
westering  shadows  into  gloaming,  he  called  his  students  around 
him,  and,  rising  up,  "he  shook  his  wild  locks  among  them,  blessed 
them,  called  them  his  children,"  and  bade  them  adieu  Surely  a 
kindly  recognition  of  these  young  men  in  manner  such  as  tliis  would 
bring  benefit  with  it  not  less  lasting,  than  when,  in  graver  st.ite,  he 
prelected,  ex  cathedra,  to  his  assembled  class. 

We  get  an  idea  of  what  that  class  was  from  the  following  recol- 
lections, which  3Ir.  John  Hill  Burton  has  kindly  sent  to  me.  He 
says  : — 

"  I  first  saw  and  made  the  acpiaintauce  of  Professor   Wilson 


232  MEMOIR   OF   JOHN    WILSOX. 

when  I  joined  his  class  iii  1830.  Tlie  occasion  -was  of  much  nio:e 
interest  to  me  than  the  usual  first  sight  of  an  instructor  by  a  itiipil. 
I  do  not  know  if  theie  be  any  thing  of  the  same  kind  now,  but  in 
that  day  there  was  a  peculiar  devotion  to  BlackwootV s  Magazine 
among  young  readers  in  the  north.  All  who  were  ambitious  of 
looking  beyond  their  class  exercises,  considered  this  the  fountain- 
head  of  originality  and  spirit  in  literature.  The  articles  of  the  last 
number  were  discussed  critically  in  the  debating  societies,  and 
knowingly  in  the  supper  parties,  and  the  writmg  of  the  master- 
hand  was  always  anxiously  traced.  To  see  that  master,  then,  for 
the  first  time,  was  an  epoch  in  one's  life. 

"  The  long-looked  for  first  sight  of  a  great  man  often  proves  a 
disappointment  to  the  votary.  It  was  far  otherwise  in  this  in- 
stance. Much  as  I  had  heard  of  his  appearance,  it  exceeded  ex- 
pectation, and  I  said  to  myself  that,  in  the  tokens  of  i)hysical  health 
and  strength,  intellect,  high  spirit,  and  all  the  elements  of  mascu- 
line beauty,  I  had  not  seen  his  equal.  There  was  a  curious  contrast 
to  all  this  in  the  adjuncts  of  his  presence — the  limp  Geneva  gown, 
and  the  square,  box-shaped  desk,  over  which  he  seemed  like  some 
great  bust  set  on  a  square  plinth — but  I  question  if  any  robes  or 
chair  of  state  would  have  added  dignity  to  his  a))pearance. 

"  On  a  very  early  day  in  the  session — I  forget  whether  it  was 
quite  the  first — we  suddenly  came  to  an  acquaintance,  on  my  hav- 
ing occasion  to  speak  with  him  at  the  end  of  the  lecture.  Wlien 
he  found  that  I  was  an  Aberdonian,  he  asked  me  if  I  knew  Tar- 
land,  'a  place  celebrated  for  its  markets.'  To  be  sure  I  did;  and 
Tarl.and  was  in  those  days  not  a  place  to  be  easily  forgotten.  On 
the  border  of  the  Highlands,  it  had  been  a  great  mart  ibr  smuggled 
whiskey;  and  thougli  the  reduction  of  the  excise  duties  had  spoiled 
that  trade,  custom  continued  it  for  a  while  in  a  modified  shajie,  and 
the  wild  rufiianly  habits  it  had  nourished  were  still  in  their  prime, 
and  not  likely  to  disappear  until  the  generation  trained  to  them 
had  passed  away.  The  Professor  had  seen  and  experienced  the 
ways  of  the  place.  He  hinted,  with  a  sort  of  half-sarcastic  solem- 
nity, that  he  was  there  in  the  course  of  the  ethical  inquiries  to 
which  he  had  devoted  himself;  just  as  the  professor  of  natural  his- 
tory or  any  other  persevering  geologist  might  be  found  where  any 
uiuisual  geological  phenomenon  is  develojied,  or  the  professor  of 
anatomy  might  conduct  his  inquiries  into  some  abnormal  structure 


THE   PKOFESSOK    AND    HIS    CLASS.  233 

of  the  human  body.  His  researches  might  lead  him  into  trials  and 
perils,  as  those  of  zealous  investigators  are  often  apt  to  do.  In  fact, 
he  had  to  draw  upon  his  early  acquired  knowledge  of  the  art  of 
self-defence  on  the  occasion,  and  he  believed  he  did  so  not  unsuc- 
cessfully. Here  tliere  was  a  sparkle  of  the  eye,  a  curl  of  the  lip, 
and  a  general  look  of  fire  and  determination,  which  reminded  one  of 
'  The  stern  joy  which  warriors  feel 
In  foemen  worthy  of  their  steel.' 

"  He  described  the  market-day  as  a  sort  of  continued  surge  of 
rioting,  drinking,  and  fighting;  and  when  darkness  was  coming  on, 
ne  had  to  find  his  way  to  some  distance  among  unknown  roads.  A 
lame  man,  very  unsuited  for  that  wild  crowd,  had  in  the  mean  time 
scraped  a  sort  of  acquaintance  with  him,  and  interested  him  by  the 
scholarship  interspersed  in  his  conversation.  He  was  the  school- 
master of  a  neighboring  parish  ;  and  as  their  ways  lay  together, 
he  was  to  be  the  guide,  and,  in  return,  to  get  the  assistance  of  the 
stalwart  stranger.  The  poor  schoolmaster  had,  however,  so  ex- 
tensively moistened  his  clay,  that  assistance  was  not  sufficient,  and 
the  Professor  had  to  throw  him  over  his  shoulder,  and  carry  hiuj. 
With  the  remainder  of  the  dominie's  physical  strength,  too,  oozed 
away  that  capacity  for  threading  the  intricacies  of  the  path,  which 
was  his  contribution  to  the  joint  adventure.  Assistance  had  to  be 
got  from  some  of  the  miscellaneons  Highlanders  dispersing  home- 
wards ;  and  as  all  were  anxious  to  bear  a  hand,  the  small  grouj) 
increased  into  a  sort  of  procession,  and  the  Professor  reached  his 
abode,  wherever  that  might  be,  at  the  head  of  a  sort  ol'  army  of 
these  lawless  men. 

"  A  history  of  this  kind  was  calculated  to  put  a  young  person  at 
ease,  in  the  presence  of  the  great  man  and  the  Professor  of  jNIoral 
Philosophy.  We  now  sailed  easily  into  conversation,  and  went  oiF 
into  metaphysics.  That  he  should  seriously  and  earnestly  talk  on 
such  matters  with  the  raw  youth  was,  of  course,  very  gratifying; 
but  there  was  a  sort  of  misgiving,  that  he  took  for  granted  my 
knowing  more  than  I  did.  This  was  a  way  of  his,  however,  to 
which  1  became  accustomed;  he  was  always  ready  to  give  people 
credit  for  ext  nsivc  learning.  There  was  no  mere  hollow  courtesy 
or  giving  the  go-by  in  his  talk  on  this  occasion.  He  helped  me  at 
once  to  the  root  of  many  important  things  connected  with  the 
studies  I  was  pursuing.  A  point  arose,  on  which  he  would  speak 
10 


23-i  MIOIOIU    OF    JOHN    "WILSON. 

to  Sir  Willirtin  Hamilton,  wlio  knew  all  about  it;  he  did  afterwards 
speak  to  him  accordingly,  souiewhat  to  my  surprise,  as  I  thouirht 
he  would  be  unlikely  to  remember  either  me  or  my  talk — and  I 
thus  made  an  acquaintance  which  afterwards  strengthened  into  an 
admirino-  friendship  for  that  great  man.  Then  another  point  came 
up,  on  wliich  De  Qiiincey  might  be  consulted,  and  would  give  very 
curious  information,  if  he  could  be  caught.  He  was  then  dwelling 
with  the  Professor — as  much  as  he  could  be  eaid  to  dwell  any- 
where. Suppose  then  I  should  come  and  dine  with  them  ?  That 
would  be  my  best  chance  of  seeing  De  Quincey.  Tliat  it  was 
quite  light  to  take  advantage  of  this  frank  invitation,  and,  an  ob- 
scure stranger,  to  catch  at  an  opportunity  of  thrusting  myself  on 
the  hosjiitalities  and  the  family  circle  of  a  distinguished  man,  may 
be  questioned.  But  most  people  will  admit  that  the  temptation 
was  great.  It  was  too  much  for  me,  and  I  accepted,  witli  immense 
satistaction. 

"  I  went  to  Gloucester  Place  accordingly.  The  poet's  residence 
did  not  represent  the  traditional  garret,  nor  his  guests  the  eccentric 
troop  familiar  to  Smollett  and  Fielding,  although  I  had  gone  there 
to  meet  one  who  had  the  reputation  of  bringing  into  the  nineteenth 
century  the  habits  of  that  age  in  their  most  grotesque  shape,  llim, 
however,  I  did  not  see.  The  Opium-Eater  was  supposed  to  be 
somewhere  about  the  premises,  but  he  chose  neither  to  ap|)ear  in 
the  drawing-room  nor  the  dining-room,  and  years  passed  before  I 
became  acquainted  with  the  most  peculiar  man  of  genius,  in  Britairi 
at  least,  of  the  age.  Otherwise,  there  was  good  company,  hand- 
somely housed,  and  enteitained  with  hospitality  thoroughly  kind , 
easy,  and  hearty,  but  all  in  perfect  taste  and  condition. 

"  It  was  a  sort  of  epoch  to  myself,  and  therefore  I  remember 
pretty  well  who  were  present.  We  had  Professor  Jameson,  then  at 
the  zenith  of  his  fame  as  a  mineralogist,  Lawrence  M'Donald,  the 
sculptor,  and  John  Malcolm,  then  a  })opular  poet  and  writer  of  mis- 
cellanies, whose  fame,  though  considerable  then,  has  probably  been 
worn  out  ere  this  day ;  he  was,  as  I  knew  him  afterwards,  a  pleas- 
ant, gentle,  meditatively-inclined  man,  though  I  think  he  had  seen 
military  service,  and  knew  the  mess-room  of  the  old  war, — a  differ- 
ent thing  from  that  of  the  present  day.  Youngest,  as  well  as  I 
remember,  of  these  seniors,  was  a  Captain  Alexander,  whom  I  take 
to  be  the  traveller.  Sir  J.  E.  Alexander. 


THE    PUOFESSOK    AM)    HIS    CLASS,  235 

"Among  my  own  contemporaries  wore  some  representntives  of 
young  Edinburgh,  of  whom  a  woi-d  or  two  presently,  and  a  Pol<>, 
wlu)  h:i])i)ened  to  be  the  only  guest  with  whom  I  'had  any  previous 
acquaintance.  His  formal  designation  was  Leon  Count  Lubienski. 
Seeing  a  good  deal  of  him  afterwards  during  the  five  months  ses- 
sion, i  formed  a  great  idea  of  his  abilities.  He  had  nothing  of  the 
imaginative,  or  of  the  esthetic — a  term  then  coming  into  use  from 
Germany  ;  but  for  an  eye  to  the  practical,  and  a  capacity  for  mas- 
tering all  knowledge  leading  in  that  direction,  it  did  not  happen  to 
me  to  find  his  equal  among  ray  contemporaries.  With  all  the  diffi- 
culties of  language  against  him,  he  carried  off  from  young  Edinburgh 
the  first  i)rize  in  the  civil  law  class.  After  having  astonished  us 
throughout  the  session,  he  left  us  at  the  end,  and  I  never  could 
discover  any  thing  of  a  distinct  kind  about  his  career,  though  I 
have  turned  up  the  initials  of  his  name  in  the  many  biographical 
diclionaries  of  contemporaries  which  seem  to  be  a  specialty  of  the 
present  day.  I  heard,  many  years  since,  a  vague  rumor  that  he 
had  risen  in  the  Russian  service.  He  was  just  the  man,  according 
to  the  notions  of  this  country,  to  be  useful  to  such  a  government, 
if  he  would  consent  to  serve  it.  I  feel  certain,  however,  that  he 
was  a  man  who  could  not  have  escaped  being  heard  of  by  the 
world,  had  his  career  in  practical  life  lain  elsewhere  than  in  a  close 
despotism. 

"  Such  was  the  outer  circle  of  guests  ;  within  was  the  Professor's 
own  family.  And  so  hither  I  found  myself  transferred,  as  by  a 
wave  of  an  enchanter's  wand,  a  raw,  unknown  youth,  with  claim  of 
no  kind  in  the  shape  of  introduction,  with  no  credentials  or  tes'i-- 
mony  to  my  bare  respectability;  no  name,  even  of  a  common 
friend,  to  bring  our  conversation  to  an  anchor  with.  This  success 
seems  for  more  surprising  when  looked  back  upon  than  it  was  felt 
at  the  time.  Young  people  read  in  novels  of  such  things,  .a^d  there- 
fore are  not  astonished  by  them  ;  but  in  .after  life  they  become 
aware  of  tlieir  extreme  uncommonness.  Nor  was  it  a  mere  casual 
act  of  formal  hospitality;  I  received  afterwards  many  a  cordial 
welcome  within  those  hospitable  doors. 

"It  is  possibly  its  personal  bearing  that  makes  me  now  r(.'mend)er 
pretty  distinctly  a  good-humored  and  kindly  pleasantry  of  the  Pro- 
fessor's at  that  first  dinner.  I  have  mentioned  th.at  there  were 
some  representative-;  of  young  Edinburgh  present.     I  do  not  know 


236  MEMOIK    OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

what  precise  position  towards  the  rest  of  the  human  race  the  youth 
of  Edinburgh  may  now  claim,  but  it  appeared  to  me,  when  I  came 
among  tlit-m  at  the  time  I  speak  of,  that  they  considered  it  beyond 
any  kind  of  question  that  they  were  superior  to  all  the  rest  of  the 
world.  To  one  coming  from  the  common  hard  drudgery  of  our 
classes  in  the  Xorth,  where  we  did  our  work  zealously  enough,  with 
plenty  of  internal  rivalry,  but  thought  no  more  of  claiming  fame 
outside  the  walls  than  any  body  of  zealous  mechanics,  it  was  a  great 
novelty  to  get  among  a  community,  where  the  High  School  dux  of 

18 — ,  or  the  gainer  of  the  gold  medal  in  the class,  was  pointed 

out  to  you ;  nay,  further,  to  meet  with  lads  of  your  own  standing, 
who  were  the  authors  of  published  poems,  had  delivered  great  and 
telling  speeches  at  the  Speculative,  or  had  written  capital  articles 
in  the  Edinburgh  Litcrarrj  Journcd^  or  the  Uiiiverslty  Album. 
Whether  it  were  the  inlieritance  of  the  long  hierarchy  of  literary 
glory  which  Edinburgh  had  enjoyed,  or  arose  from  any  other  cause, 
this  phenomenon  was  marvellous  to  a  stranger,  and  rather  disa- 
greeably marvellous,  because  a  youth  coining  into  all  this  brilliant 
light,  out  of  the  Boeotian  darkness  of  Aberdeen,  was  conscious  of 
being  contemplated  with  compassionate  condescension.  We  had, 
however,  at  the  University  of  Edinburgh  at  that  time,  a  consider- 
able body  of  Aberdonians,  pretty  compactly  united.  At  our  head 
was  William  Spalding,  the  tirst  among  us  in  learning  and  accom- 
plishments, as  well  as  in  the  means  of  using  them.  He  well  justitied 
our  expectations  by  his  subsequent  career,  sadly  impeded  as  it  was 
by  bodily  ailments,  which  brought  it  to  an  iintimely  close.  I  have 
got  into  an  episode  in  mentioning  him  here,  but  it  is  not  entirely 
inappropriate,  for  the  Professor  was,  as  I  believe  he  has  been  in 
many  other  instances,  the  first  who,  from  a  high  place,  took  notice 
of  Spalding's  capacity. 

"Well,  emboldened  and  elated,  I  suppose,  by  being  brought 
into  social  equality  Avith  them,  it  came  to  pass  that,  in  our  after- 
dinner  talk,  1  threw  down  the  gauntlet  to  the  representatives  of 
young  Edinburgh  then  present,  and  stood  for  the  equality,  at  least, 
if  not  the  superiority  of  Aberdeen  in  all  the  elements  of  human 
eminence.  In  such  a  contest,  a  good  deal  depends  on  the  number 
of  names,  in  any  way  known  to  fame,  that  the  champion  remembers  ; 
and  Aberdeen  possessed,  especially  if  one  drew  on  the  far  past,  a 
rery  fair  stock  of  celebrities.     As  I  was  giving  them  forth,  amidst 


THE    PROFESSOR    AND    HIS    CLASS,  237 

a  good  deal  of  derisive  laughter  and  ironical  cheering,  tlie  Professor, 
tickled  by  the  absurdity  of  the  thing,  threw  himself  into  the  contest, 
on  my  side,  and  tumbled  over  some  of  my  antagonists  in  an  ex- 
tremely delectable  manner.  This  was  a  first  revelation  to  me  of  a 
power  which  I  afterwards  often  observed  with  astonishment, — a 
kind  of  intellectual  gladiatorship,  which  enabled  him,  in  a  sort  of 
rollicking,  playful  manner,  to  overthrow  his  adversary  with  little 
injury  to  him,  but  much  humiliation.  I  can  compare  it  to  nothing 
it  so  much  resembles  as  a  powciful,  playful,  good-natured  mastiff 
taking  his  sport  with  a  snarUng  cur.  As  I  shall  have  to  mention  more 
especially,  tliis  was  a  powerful  instrument  of  discipline  in  his  class. 
He  never  had  to  stand  on  his  dignity.  When  it  was  worth  his 
while,  he  tumbled  any  transgressor  about  in  a  way  that  made  him, 
though  unhurt,  thoroughly  ashamed  of  himself,  and  an  example  to 
deter  others  from  doing  the  like.  On  the  occasion  referred  to,  it 
was  possibly  Visible  to  the  bystanders,  and  had  I  possessed  more 
ex])erience,  might  have  been  known  to  myself,  that  I  also  had  been 
gently  laid  sprawling  in  the  attacks  that  seemed  directed  entirely 
against  my  adversaries ;  but  I  happily  saw  only  their  discomfiture, 
and  rejoiced  accordingly.  All  that  was  done  for  me  was,  however, 
entirely  neutralized  by  a  random  shnft  from  the  Pole,  finding  mark 
he  never  meant,  and  jjiercing  more  effectually  than  all  the  artillery 
of  my  opponents.  Looking  with  an  air  of  intense  gravity  on  the 
whole  discussion,  he  broke  in  with  the  inquiry,  whether  he  was  right 
or  not  in  his  supposition,  that  '  Apperdcen  was  verray  illoustrious 
for  the  making  of  stockingks?'  Alter  this,  there  was  no  use  of 
saying  more  on  either  side. 

"  I  wish  I  had  tried  to  Boswellize,  or  could  now  remember  the 
talk  of  that,  as  of  many  other  evenings.  One  little  inci«lent  I 
remember  distinctly,  but  I  am  sure  I  shall  be  unable  to  tell  it  to 
any  effect.  Some  priggish  rem;irks  having  been  made  by  some  one 
on  the  power  of  exliaustive  analysis,  the  Professor  fell  to  illustrate 
it  by  an  attempt,  through  that  process,  to  send  a  hired  assistant, 
name  unknown,  for  a  fresh  bottle  of  claret.  lie  began  calling  to 
hin)  by  the  ordinary  names,  John,  .James,  William,  Thomas,  ami  so 
on,  but  none  hit  the  mark — the  man  standing  by  the  sideboard,  in 
demure  contemplation,  as  if  inwardly  solving  some  metaphysical 
difficulty.  The  Professor  then  passed  on  in  a  wild  discursive  flight 
through  stranger  names.     At  last  he  seemed  to  have  hit  the  right 


238  MEMOIR   OF   JOIIX    WILSON. 

one,  for  the  attendant  darted  forward.  It  was,  in  fact,  in  obedio.ice 
to  a  sign  by  a  guest  that  he  was  wanted,  but  it  came  in  inline. liale 
response  to  a  thoi'onglily  unconventional  designation, — Beelzebub, 
]\[ephistophiles,  or  h.onietlnng  of  that  sort ;  and  the  fun  was  en- 
hanced by  the  man's  solemn  unconsciousness  that  he  had  been  the 
object  of  a  logical  experiment. 

"  Bat  to  come  back  to  the  class.  It  was  one  that  must  have 
been  somewhat  memorable  to  the  Professor  himself,  when  he  looked 
back  upon  it  in  after  years.  Not  only  was  his  son  John  in  it,  but 
it  included  John  Thompson  Gordon  and  William  Edmondstoune 
Aytoun,  so  that  unconsciously  the  Professor  was  instructing  the 
future  husbands  of  his  daughters.  There  were  others  to  give  it 
interest  ai?.d  repute — as  Archibald  Swinton,  noAV  Professor  of  Civil 
hxw ;  the  clever  Pole  I  have  already  referred  to  ;  John  Walker  Ord, 
who  shcwpd  poetic  powers  which  promised  a  considerable  harvest ; 
and  Thrr/'.as  Todd  Stoddart,  who  had  won  laurels,  and  thoroughly 
enjoyed  *.hem,  too,  in  his  published  poem  of  '  The  Death  Wake.' 

"The  powers  of  Wilson,  as  an  instructor  and  a  public  speaker, 
will,  of  course,  be  described  by  others.  I  may  simply  say  that 
attendance  at  his  class,  at  the  same  time  that  it  was  an  act  of  duty, 
rev^urded  the  student  with  what  duty  seldom  brings,  the  enjoyment 
of  an  oration  alive  with  brilliant  and  powerful  eloquence. 

"Saturday  was  a  greatday  of  enjoyment  of  a  more  egotistic  kind. 
Then  he  spoke  on  the  essays  he  had  leceived.  He  gave  us  a  breadth 
of  topics,  and  allowed  us  Avonderful  latitude  in  the  handling  of  them 
— but  he  certainly  read  them  all — and  what  a  mass  of  trash  he  must, 
have  thus  perused!  In  criticising  them,  he  was  charitable  and 
cordial  to  the  utmost  stretch  of  magnanimous  charity.  I  can  hardly 
say  what  an  exciting  thrill  it  im])arted  to  the  youth  to  hear  his  own 
composition  readout  from  that  high  place,  and  commented  on  with 
earnestness,  and  not  without  commendation.  The  recollection  of 
these  days  sometimes  also  recalls  BoswelTs  garrulous  account  of  his 
first  symposium  with  Johnson.  '  The  Orthodox  and  High  Church 
sound  of  The  Mitre;  the  figure  and  maimer  of  the  celebrated 
Samuel  Joimson  ;  the  extraordinary  power  ami  precision  of  his 
conversation,  and  the  pride  arising  from  finding  myself  admitted 
as  his  com})anion,  produced  a  variety  of  sensations,  and  a  pleasing- 
elevation  of  mind  beyond  what  I  had  ever  before  experienced.' 
But  our  ek'vation    iroceeded  from    entirely    intellectuiJ    sources, 


•CUE    PROFESSOR    AND    III3    CLASS.  239 

WCl  tout  the  aid  of  the  other  stimulants  which  contributed  to  Bos- 
weli's  gloiy.  Altogether,  that  class  was  a  scene  of  eijoynient 
which  remains  in  my  mind  entirely  distinct  from  oven  the  plea- 
Banter  portion  of  other  work-day  college  life. 

"  The  class  was  a  very  large  one.  I  have  referred  to  the  I'rofessor's 
peculiar  power  of  presei-ving  discipline,  or  rather  of  keeping  up  good- 
humor,  gentlemanly  fellowship,  ami  order,  without  the  necessity  of 
discipline.  An  instance  occurred  during  the  session,  when  he  exer- 
cised this  power  in  a  matter  not  peculiar  to  his  own  class,  not  indeed 
showing  itself  within  the  class,  but  general  to  the  students  at  large, 
as  a  portion  of  the  inhabitants  of  Edinburgh  having  a  common  tie. 
There  was  a  great  snow-ball  riot  in  that  session.  This  is  a  thing  pecu- 
liar to  Edinburgh,  and  not  easily  made  intelligible  to  those  who  have 
oot  witnessed  it.  As  a  stranger  it  surprised  me  much.  In  the  north 
we  had  our  old  feuds  and  animosities,  often  breaking  out  in  serious 
violence  and  mischief  But  that  a  set  of  people — most  of  them  full- 
grown  —  should,  without  any  settled  feud,  utterly  change  the  whole 
tenor  of  their  conduct,  and  break  into  something  like  insurrectiorj, 
merely  because  snow  was  on  the  ground,  appeared  to  be  a  silliness 
utterly  incomprehensible.  This  snow-ball  aifair  became  so  formid- 
able-looking that  a  mounted  foreign  refugee,  with  his  head  full  of 
revolutions,  galloped  through  the  streets  (I  forget  if  he  was  in  any 
way  armed)  calling  out  '  Barricade — shoot !' 

"After  it  was  pretty  well  over,  the  Professor  made  a  si)eech  to 
us  on  the  conclusion  of  his  daily  lecture.  He  did  not  condenm  or 
even  disparage  snow-balling;  on  the  contrary,  he  expressed  glow- 
ingly his  sense  of  its  sometimes  irresistible  attractions.  These  he 
illustrated  by  what  had  once  occurred  to  himself  and  a  venerable 
and  'Uustrious  friend;  we  thought  at  the  time  that  he  meant  Dr. 
Chalmers.  In  a  spring  walk  among  the  hills,  and  in  the  middle  of 
a  semi-metaphysical  discussion,  they  came  upon  a  snow-wreath.  By 
a  sort  of  simultaneous  impulse,  borne  on  the  recollection  of  early 
days,  the  discussion  stopped,  and  they  fell  too  to  a  regular  hard 
bicker.  After  Avorking  away  till  they  were  covered  with  snow, 
panting  with  fitigue  and  glowing  red  with  the  exertion,  they  both 
stopped,  and  laughed  loud  in  each  other's  face;  just  such  a  hnigh 
as  he  must  have  then  expressetl,  did  the  Professor  force  upon  his 
class.  Then  came  his  contrast  between  such  a  scene  and  a  fracas 
inthediity  streets,  where  low-bred  luffians  took  the  opi)oriunity 


2-iO  MEMOIR   OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

to  get  out  some  bit  of  petty  revenge  or  of  mere  wanton  crueltV;  or 
of  insolence  to  those  whose  character  and  position  entitled  them  to 
deference;  and  so  he  went  on,  until  there  could  not  be  a  question 
that  every  one  in  the  class  who  had  been  concerned  in  the  aft'air  felt 
ashamed  of  himself.  His  practical  conclusion  was  that  they  should 
have  their  bicker,  certainly,  but — adjourn  it  from  the  college  quad- 
rangle and  the  street  to  the  Pentland  hills. 

"We  naturally,  among  ourselves,  talked  over  any  little  instances 
illustrative  of  the  remarkable  power  of  making  any  one  whom 
he  had  to  rebuke  or  correct  feel  foolish.  For  instance,  there  used 
to  be  a  set  of  dusky  personages  who  then  stood  at  the  corner  of 
certain  streets,  and  annoyed  the  passenger  by  stepping  up  right 
in  front  of  him,  like  an  established  acquaintance,  and  snying,  'Any 
old  clothes?'  It  was  said  that  the  vvay  in  which  the  I'rufessor  on 
such  an  occasion  turne(l  round  on  the  intruder,  and  said,  'Yes  ;  have 
you  any?'  had  such  an  eftect,  that  the  word  was  passed  through 
the  tribe,  and  he  never  was  again  addressed  by  any  of  its  membei's. 

"I  remember  a  very  strong  negative  testimony  to  this  peculiar 
power,  in  the  circumstance  of  his  entire  freedom  from  the  ])ersecu- 
tions  of  two  licensed  tormentors,  who  were  the  terror  of  all  tlie  rest 
of  the  professors.  They  were  men  of  venerable  years  and  weak  in- 
tellect, who  had  established  a  sort  of  prescriptive  right  to  attend 
such  classes  as  they  might  honor  with  their  presence.  It  was  not 
of  course  their  mere  presence,  but  the  use  to  which  it  Avas  put  by 
tricky  students,  that  made  the  standing  gi-ief  of  the  professors. 
One  of  them  was  called  Sir  Peter  Nimuu),  a  dirty,  ill-looking  lout, 
who  had  neitluu-  wit  himself,  nor  any  quality  with  a  sutlicient 
amount  of  pleasant  grotesqxieness  in  it  to  create  wit  in  others.  T 
believe  he  was  merely  an  idly-inclined  and  stupidish  man  of  low 
condition,  who,  having  once  got  into  practice  as  a  sort  of  public 
laughing-stock,  saw  that  the  occupation  paid  better  than  honest  in- 
dustry, and  had  cunning  enough  to  keep  it  up.  lie  must  have  had 
a  rather  hard  time  of  it,  however,  in  some  respects,  for  it  was  an 
established  practice  to  get  hold  of  the  cards  of  important  person- 
ages— especially  if  they  were  as  testy  as  they  were  important — and 
to  present  them  to  Sir  Peter  Avith  a  request  that  he  would  favor  the 
person  indicated  with  his  company  at  dinner.  He  always  went, 
pretending  simplicity,  and  using  a  little  caution,  if  he  saw  symjjtoms 
of  strong  measures.     I  suppose  he  sometimes  got  a  meal  that  way, 


TIIK    rUOFKSSOll    AND    HIS    CLASS.  241 

following  an  old  Scottish  saying  about  taking  '  the  bite  Avith  the 
buffet.'  He  always  called  himself  Sir  Peter.  It  was  said  that  a 
man  of  liigh  title  had  professed  to  knight  him  in  a  drunken  frolic, 
lie  wandered  about  sometimes  endeavoring  to  establish  himself  as 
a  sponge  in  country  houses.  Strangely  enough,  he  thus  got  the  ear 
of  Wordsworth,  who  showed  him  attention.  lie  used  the  Profes- 
sor's name,  and  Wordsworth,  as  I  heard,  talked  of  him  as  a  Scotch 
baronet,  eccentric  in  appearance,  but  fundamentally  one  of  the  most 
sensible  men  he  ever  met  with.  The  Professor  remarked  that  this 
compliment  was  no  doubt  owing  to  Sir  Peter  having  judiciously 
preserved  silence,  and  allowed  Wordsworth  to  pour  into  his  ear 
unceasingly  the  even  tenor  of  his  loquacity. 

"The  other  of  this  strange  pair  was  a  rather  more  interesting 
creature.  He  was  called  Dr.  Syntax.  He  had  of  course  another 
name,  but  of  that  the  public  knew  nothing.  The  Tour  of  Dr.  Syntax 
in  search  of  the  picturesque,  with  its  doggerel  rhymes  and  extrava- 
gant illustrations,  had  not  then  quite  lost  the  great  popularity  it 
enjoyed.  The  representations  of  the  hero  were  intended  to  be 
gross  caricatures,  but  the  structure  of  his  namesake  was  so  super- 
naturally  protracted  and  spidery  as  closely  to  approach  the  propor- 
tions of  the  caricature.  His  costume,  probably  by  no  design  of  his 
own,  completed  the  likeness.  This  being,  if  seen  in  the  street,  was 
always  marching  along  with  extreme  rapidity,  with  his  porttblio 
under  his  arm,  as  if  full  of  important  business,  unless,  indeed,  he 
had  just  got  a  present  of  a  turban,  a  yeoman's  helmet,  or  some  other 
I)rei)Osterous  decoration,  when  he  would  stand  exhibiting  himself 
wherever  a  crowd  ha})pened  to  pass.  He  honored  the  various  pro- 
fessors and  clergy  of  Edinburgh  with  his  attendance  at  their  lectures 
and  sermons.  He  always  chose  the  most  conspicuous  place  he  could 
fuid.  There,  with  his  long,  demure,  cadaverous  face,  on  which  a 
stray  smile  would  have  been  at  once  frozen,  he  proceeded  to  busi- 
ness and  spread  out  his  portfolio.  He  sometimes  took  notes  of  what 
was  said,  at  others  took  the  portrait  of  the  speaker ;  it  may  be  ])rt>- 
sumed  ttiat  in  church  he  limited  hiniself  to  the  former  function,  h' 
it  grew  dark,  he  would  solemnly  draw  from  his  pocket  a  small  tajxT 
and  strike  a  light,  determined  not  to  be  interrupted  in  his  duties, 
and  in  the  centre  of  the  general  gloom  a  small  disk  of  light  would 
distinguish  his  countenance,  which  was  as  solemn  as  the  grave,  yet 
bhed  aroimd  a  degree  of  restless  mirth  which  spoiled  many  a  lecture, 
10^ 


242  MlOlOlli    OF   JulIX    AVILSOX. 

ami  uni-t  liavo  sa  lly  jumblcJ  tlie  devotions  of  tlie  church-goers.  I 
believe  cYoiy  professor  received  a  full  share  of  this  man's  attentions 
except  Wilson.  His  literary  ally,  the  Professor  of  Civil  law,  a  inau 
endowed  with  a  o-reat  fund  of  humor,  which,  however,  he  could  not 
convert  like  him  into  defensive  armor,  suiTered  dreadfully  from  Syn- 
tax, and  when  the  pale  face  was  visible  in  the  highest  desk,  we 
knew  that  a  day  was  lost,  the  poor  lecturer  having  enough  to  do  in 
keeping  down  internal  convulsions  of  laughter,  which  seemed  as  if 
they  would  explode  and  shatter  his  frame  to  pieces. 

''  Both  these  tormentors,  of  whom  I  have,  perhaps,  said  too  much, 
stood  in  wholesome  dread  of  Wilson.  It  was,  I  have  no  doubt,  by 
effectually  treating  them  according  to  their  folly,  that  he  earned  this 
exemjttion,  in  which  his  brethren  must  ha\e  greatly  envied  him. 

"  Before  that  session  came  to  an  end,  an  event  occurred  momen- 
tous to  all  of  us — the  Reform  Bill  was  brought  in.  We  youths  had 
previously  indulged  in  no  politics,  or  if  in  any,  they  were  of  a  mild 
Aristides  and  Brutus  kind,  tinged  perhaps  by  De  Lolme  and  the 
Letters  of  Junius.  Now,  however,  we  were  at  once  separated  into 
two  hostile  forces.  To  the  liberals,  JjlackicoocVs  Magazine^  ceasing 
to  be  the  guiding-star  of  literature,  had  become  the  watchfire  of 
the  enemy.  The  bitterness  of  the  hostility  felt  at  that  time  by  the 
young  men  of  the  two  opposite  political  creeds  cannot  easily  be  un- 
derstood by  those  in  the  same  stage  of  life  at  the  present  day.  The 
friendship  must  have  been  fast  indeed  that  remained  after  one  friend 
had  become  a  reformer  and  the  other  an  anti-reformer.  We  used  to 
make  faces  at  each  otlier  as  M-e  passed  ;  and  if  a  few  woi'ds  were  ex- 
changed, they  were  hostile  and  threatening.  I  suppose  our  hostility 
was  a  type  of  a  stage  of  transition  between  the  ferocity  of  times  of 
civil  war  and  the  milil  political  partisanship  of  the  pi'esent  day. 

"  The  Professor  was  known  to  take  his  stand  against  the  Bill 
with  great  vehemence,  but  I  never  knew  more  than  one  instance 
of  an  approach  to  an  ebullition  of  it  upon  any  of  his  friends  on  our 
side.  There  had  been  many  Reform  meetings  of  all  kinds,  some- 
times assembling  vast  multitmles,  when  it  occurred  to  attempt  a 
Tory  meeting — the  word  Conservative  had  not  then  been  invented. 
A  question  arose  among  us  whether  tliey  should  be  allowed  to  have 
it  their  own  way,  and,  since  they  called  the  meeting  public,  whether 
our  party  should  not  go  and  out-vote  them.  The  tactic  of  public 
meetings,  as  simply  one-sideil  demonstrations   of  the  strength  of  a 


THE    PRUFES.^OK    AND    HIS    CLASS.  243 

party,  was  not  then  understood,  and  they  were  coiitbunded  with 
meetings  of  rej)resentative  bodies,  where  strength  is  tried  by  dis- 
cussing and  voting.  A  friend  of  the  Professor's,  older  than  the 
youngsters  of  his  chiss,  but  a  good  deal  younger  than  himself,  was 
known  stronuly  to  favor  an  invasion  of  the  meeting  from  our  side. 
He  called  on  the  Prol'essor  presently  before  the  meeting;  it  was  a 
friendly  visit,  but  partially,  I  presume,  for  the  purpose  of  sounding 
the  Professor  on  the  exciting  question.  Just  before  leaving,  he  ex- 
pressed a  hope  that  there  would  be  no  disturbance.  The  Professor, 
drawing  himself  up,  answered,  as  well  as  I  can  remember  having 
heard,  in  this  wise :  '  What  any  set  of  blackguards  may  be  pre- 
pared to  attempt  in  these  days  I  cannot  predict ;  but  I  can  say, 
that  if  I  see  any  man  who  is  on  terms  of  acquaintance  with  me 
go  to  that  meeting  to  meddle  with  it,  I  hope  I  may  be  the  first — • 
(a  pause) — to  kick  him  out  into  the  street.'  And  the  visitor  said 
the  Professor  looked  as  if  he  were  so  close  on  the  point  of  rehears- 
ing this  performance  on  the  spot,  that  he  involuntarily  started  a 
good  pace  back, 

"  Though  politics  entered  deeply  into  our  social  and  literary  in- 
tercourse at  that  time,  yet  the  Professor  was  strong  enough  in  his 
other  elements  of  distinction  to  keep  himself  aloof,  and  remain  un- 
touched in  his  other  relations  by  the  inliuence  of  party,  without  in 
the  least  degree  putting  in  question  the  sincerity  of  his  attachment 
to  his  own  side.  lie  made  in  the  class  just  one  allusion  to  politics, 
and  it  was  emphatic.  An  ambitious  student,  in  one  of  his  essays, 
finding  his  way  to  the  characteristics  of  democracy,  made  some 
allusions  to  passing  events  in  a  tone  which  he  no  doubt  thought 
likely  to  secure  the  favor  of  the  Piofessor.  We  never  would  have 
known  of  this  effort  had  it  not  been  read  out  in  full  to  us  in  the 
class,  and  followed  by  a  severe  rebuke  on  the  introduction  of  poli- 
tics to  a  place  where  party  strife  should  be  unknown." 

Another  student,*  who  attended  the  class  seven  years  later,  for- 
tunately preserved  his  notes,  and  sends  me  the  following  vivid 
recollections  of  the  winter  session  of  1837  : — 

"  Of  Professor  Wilson  as  a  lecturer  on  Moral  Philosophy,  it  is 
not  easy  to  convey  any  adequate  idea  to  stranixers, — to  those  who 
never  saw  his  grand  and  nnlih;  form  excited  into  bold  and  passion- 
ate action  behind  that  stran^■e,  old-fashioned  desk,  nor  heard  hig 

*  Tho  liov.  William  Smitli,  of  North  Liith  Church. 


244  Mi:>:()iR  of  .lonx  wilson. 

manly  and  eloquent  voice  sounding  forth  its  stirring  utterances 
with  all  the  strange  and  fitful  cadence  of  a  music  quite  peculiar  to  it. 
self.  The  many-sidedness  of  the  man,  and  the  unconventional  charac- 
ter of  his  prelections,  combine  to  make  it  exceedingly  difficult  to  give 
any  full  analysis  of  his  course,  or  to  define  the  nature  and  grounds 
of  his  wonderful  power  as  a  lecturer.  I  am  certain  that  if  every 
student  who  ever  attended  his  class  were  to  place  on  record  his  im. 
pressions  of  these,  the  impressions  of  each  student  Avould  be  widely 
difterent,  and  yet  they  would  not,  taken  all  together,  exhaust  the 
subject,  or  supply  a  complete  rejiresentation  either  of  his  matter  or 
his  manner.  There  was  so  much  in  the  look  and  tone,  in  every  as- 
pect and  in  every  movement  of  the  man,  which  touched  and  sw.ayed 
the  student  at  the  time,  but  which  cannot  now  be  recalled,  described, 
or  even  realized,  that  any  reminiscence  by  any  one  can  be  interest- 
ing only  to  those  whose  memories  of  the  same  scenes  enable  them 
to  follow  out  the  train  of  recollection,  or  complete  the  picture  which 
it  may  suggest. 

"I  attended  his  class  in  session  1S37-8.  It  was  the  session  im- 
mediately succeeding  the  loss  of  his  wife,  the  thought  of  which,  as 
it  was  ever  again  and  again  re-awakened  in  his  mind  by  allusions  in 
his  lectures,  however  remote,  to  such  topics  as  death,  bereavement, 
widowhood,  youthful  love,  domestic  scenes,  and,  above  all,  to  con- 
jugal happiness,  again  and  again  shook  his  great  soul  with  an  agony 
of  uncontrollable  grief,  the  sight  of  which  was  sufficient  to  subdue 
us  all  into  deep  and  respectful  sympathy  with  him.  On  such  occa- 
sions he  would  pause  for  a  moment  or  two  in  his  lecture,  fling  him- 
self forward  on  the  desk,  bury  his  face  in  his  hands,  and  while  his 
whole  frame  heaved  with  visible  emotion,  he  would  weep  and  sob 
like  a  very  child. 

"The  roll  of  papers  on  which  each  lecture  was  written,  which  he 
carried  into  the  class-room  firmly  grasped  in  his  hand,  and  suddenly 
unrolled  and  spread  out  on  the  desk  before  him,  commencing  to 
read  the  same  moment,  could  not  fail  to  attract  the  notice  of  any 
stranger  in  his  class-room.  It  was  composed  in  large  measure  of 
portions  of  old  letters — the  addresses  and  postage-marks  on  which 
could  be  easily  seen  as  he  turned  the  leaf,  yet  it  was  equally  evi- 
dent that  the  writing  was  neat,  careful,  and  distinct ;  and,  except 
in  a  more  than  usually  dark  and  murk  day,  it  was  read  with  perfect 
ease  and  fluencv. 


THE    PROFESSOR    AND   HIS    CLASS.  245 

"  In  the  course  of  lectures  which  I  attended,  he  began  by  treat- 
ing of  the  desire  of  knowledge  ;  the  feeling  of  admiration  ;  sympa- 
thy ;  desire  of  society ;  emulation;  envy;  anger;  revenge;  self; 
self-esteem  ;  the  love  of  fame  or  glory,  and  the  love  of  powei-. 

"  The  most  memorable  points  in  these  lectures  were  :  (1.)  a  highly 
wrought  description  of  Envy,  founded  on  Spenser's  picture  of 
Lucifera  riding  in  the  gorgeous  chariot  of  Pride,  and  preceded  by 
six  Passions  (the  fifth  of  which  is  Envy)  riling  each  on  an  appro- 
priate animal ;  (2.)  a  very  minute  and  purely  metaphysical  analysis 
of  the  idea  of  Self;  and,  (3.)  a  highly  poetical  illustration  of  the 
Avorkings  of  the  Love  of  Power.  This  last  display  I  can  never 
forget ;  and  sure  am  I  that  no  one  present  can  ever  forget  it  either. 
It  appeared  to  have  been  a  lecture  whose  place  in  the  course  and 
powerful  eloquence  were  previously  not  unknown  to  fame.  For 
when  I  went  to  the  class-room  at  the  usual  hour  on  the  last  day  of 
November,  I  found  it  already  overcrowded  with  an  audience,  com- 
prising many  strangers  of  note  and  several  professors,  all  in  a  high 
state  of  expectation.  Conspicuous  in  the  centre  of  the  front  bench 
was  the  new  Professor  of  Logic,  Sir  William  Hamilton,  eager  with 
anticipation  as  the  others.  At  length  the  door  of  the  retiring-room 
was  thrown  open,  and  with  even  firmer  step  and  longer  stride,  and 
more  heroic  gait  than  usual,  the  Professor,  with  his  flowing  gown 
and  streaming  locks,  advanced  to  the  desk  and  began  the  lecture. 
After  a  hasty  recapitulation  of  the  subjects  discussed  in  previous 
lectures,  he  proceeded  somewhat  thus  ;  I  can  give  but  the  feeblest 
sketch  of  the  lecture  : — 

"'Towards  the  close  of  yesterday's  lecture  we  came  to  the  con- 
sideration of  another  active  principle,  "  The  Love  of  Power,"  and 
we  remarked  on  the  frequent  corruption  and  melancholy  degrada- 
tion of  genius  through  an  inordinate  love  of  power.  The  origin 
of  this  love  of  power  is  found  in  the  feeling  of  pleasure  which  uni- 
formly, and  in  a  proportionably  greater  or  less  degree,  attends  the 
consciousness  of  possessing  power.  Even  in  lower  creation  we  see 
this  feehng  of  pleasure  shown.  The  eagle  evidently  enjoys  a  deep 
sensation  of  pleasure  as  he  cuts  his  unmarked  ])ath  through  the 
storm-tossed  clouds.  The  horse  also,  when  in  the  fulness  of  his 
strength  he  hastens  o'er  the  course,  outstripping  all  his  rivals,  is  a 
supremely  happy  as  well  as  an  exquisitely  beautiful  animal.  Tlie 
child  too  attains  a  never-failing  soiu'ce  of  pleasure  on  his  first  con- 


246  MEMOIR  OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

sciousness  of  possessing  powers,  and  he  is  overwhelmed  with  grief 
and  vexation  wlien  he  meets  with  any  obstacle  which  presents  an 
insurmountable  obstruction  to  his  free  and  nnfettereJ  exercise  of 
these  powers. 

"  'AH  the  principles  which  the  human  being  possesses  have  been 
given  to  him  for  the  jiurpose  of  enabling  him  to  light  his  way 
through  scenes  of  trouble,  and  difficulty,  and  danger,  and  it  has 
been  also  wisely  decreed  that  the  exercise  of  these  principles  or 
powers,  when  crowned  with  success,  should  afibrd  him  pleasure. 
The  woodsman  who  is  engaged  in  felling  pines  in  the  awful  depths 
of  the  American  forest,  derives  pleasure  from  the  consciousness  of 
powA",  as  he  sees  giant  after  giant  laid  low  at  his  feet  by  the 
prowess  of  his  own  unaided  arm,  at  the  same  time  that  he  is  use- 
fully employed  in  clearing  out  a  domain  for  the  support,  it  may  bo, 
of  his  wife  and  family.  The  lonely  hunter  feels  a  pleasure  in  his 
powers  as  he  brings  down  the  towering  bird  of  Jove  by  his  un- 
erring ball,  or  as  he  meets  a  boar  in  deadly  conflict,  and  drains  tlie 
heart's  blood  of  the  brute  with  his  spear.  The  savage  fisherman 
of  the  far  north,  as  he  goes  in  his  frail  canoe  to  pursue  the  most  peril- 
ous of  all  enterprises,  feels  a  pleasure  in  his  powers,  as  he  triumphs 
by  the  skill  of  his  rude  harpoon  over  even  the  mightiest  denizens 
of  the  deep.  The  peasant  from  his  conscious  feeling  of  manly 
power  in  every  muscle  of  his  stalwart  frame  derives  pleasure,  and, 
at  the  same  time,  the  ability  to  sustain  all  the  trials  and  conquer  all 
the  difficulties  which  cross  him  on  his  toil-worn  path.  The  life  of 
the  scholar  is  as  much  a  life  of  difficulty  as  the  life  of  the  traveller 
who  plods  on  his  way  through  unknown  countries,  and  requires  in 
a  high  degree  the  sense  of  power  to  cheer  and  sustain  him  on  his 
course ;  for  we  all  know  that  conquests  in  the  kingdom  of  intelli- 
gence are  not  to  be  won  by  one  day's  battle.  .  .  . 

" '  If  the  mind  needs  support  in  its  search  after  virtue,  it  must 
much  more  need  it  in  the  ordinary  business  and  pursuits  of 
life. 

"  '  To  be  weak  is  miserable,  doing  or  suffering.  .  .  . 

"  '  It  has  often  occurred  to  us  that  the  most  debased  and  humilia- 
ting state  in  which  human  nature  could  be  found,  is  that  where 
men  have  calmly  bowed  themselves  under  the  disadvantages  in 
which  nature  has  seen  fit  originally  to  place  them,  without  a  single 
stoiit-heartfd  effort  to  relieve  themselves  from  them ;  as,  for  instance, 


THS   PKOFESSOB    AND    IIIS    CLASS.  247 

m  the  case  of  the  inhabitants  of  New  Holland,  as  they  were  be- 
scribed  by  those  who  first  visited  the  island.  And  what  a  contrast 
is  visible  between  their  character  and  that  of  the  North  American 
Indians,  vanquishing  the  feeling  of  pain  in  their  breasts  by  the 
strengtli  of  their  unconquerable  wills ;  "  The  Stoics  of  the  wood, 
the  men  without  a  tear." 

"'Let  us  picture  to  our  mind's  eye  a  pampered  Sybarite,  nursed 
in  all  the  wantonness  of  high-fed  luxury,  dallying  on  a  downy  sofa, 
amid  all  the  gorgeousness  of  ornamental  tapestry,  listening  to  the 
soft  sounds  of  sweetest  music  playing  in  his  ears ;  his  eyes  satiated 
with  pleasure  in  contemplating  the  enchanting  pictures  that  decorate 
the  walls,  and  the  beautiful  statues  which  in  pleasing  variety  fill  up 
the  distant  vistas  of  his  palace;  whose  rest  would  be  broken,  whose 
happiness  would  be  spoiled,  by  the  doubUng  of  the  highly  scented 
rose-leaf  that  lies  beneath  him  on  his  silken  couch.  Let  us  by  the 
magic  power  of  imagination  transport  this  man  to  the  gloomy  depths 
of  an  American  forest,  Avhere  the  dazzling  glare  of  a  bright  fire  in- 
stantly meets  his  eye.  If  he  does  not  forthwith  ignominiously  expire 
at  the  first  view,  suppose  him  to  survey  the  characters  who  comj^ose 
or  fill  up  the  busy  scene  around  it.  The  barbarous  savages  of  »)ne 
tribe  have  taken  captive  the  chief  of  another  engaged  in  deadly  hos- 
tilities with  them.  They  have  not  impaled  him  alive.  That  Avould 
be  to  consign  liim  too  speedily  to  unhearing  death.  But  they  have 
tied  him  fast  with  bands  made  of  the  long  and  lithe  forest  grass, 
which  yields  not  quickly  to  the  fire.  They  have  placed  him  beside 
the  pile  which  they  kindle  with  fiendish  satisfaction,  and  feed  with 
cautious  hand,  well  knowing  the  point  or  pitch  to  raise  it  to,  which 
tortures  but  not  speedily  consumes.  They  have  exhausted  all  their 
onergjj'  in  uttering  a  most  diabolical  yell,  on  witnessing  their  victim 
fii-st  feel  the  horrid  proofs  of  their  resentment,  and  noAV,  seated  on 
the  grass  around,  they  look  on  in  silence.  The  chief  stands  firm  with 
unflinching  nerve ;  his  long  eye-lashes  are  scorched  off,  but  his  proud 
eye  disdains  to  wink  ;  his  dark  raven  locks  have  all  perished,  but 
there  is  not  a  wrinkle  seen  on  his  forehead.  From  the  crown  of  his 
head  to  the  sole  of  his  foot  his  skin  is  one  continued  blister,  but  the 
courage  of  his  soul  remains  unshaken,  and  quails  not  before  the  tor- 
nieniing  pain.  The  Sybarite  has  expired  at  the  mere  sight ;  his 
craven  heart  has  ceased  to  beat.  The  Indian  hero  stands  firm. 
There  is  even  a  smile  on  his  sadly  marred  cheek,  and  it  is  not  the 


248  MEMOIK    OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

Bmile  wliicli  is  extorted  by  excruciating  pain,  and  forms  the  fit  ac- 
companiiiK'iit  of  a  groan,  but  he  smiles  with  joy  as  he  chants  his 
dcath-soiig.  He  thinks  with  pride  and  joy  on  the  heroic  deeds  he 
has  performed ;  liow  he  has  roamed  from  sunset  to  sunrise  tlirougli 
the  forest  depths,  and  changed  the  sleep  of  his  foemen  into  doatii. 
Ho  beholds  on  all  sides  dancing  around  him  the  noble  spirits  of  his 
heroic  ancestors;  and  nearest  to  him,  and  almost,  he  imagines, 
W'.tliin  reiu'h  of  his  embrace,  he  sees  the  ghost  of  his  father,  wlio  first 
put  into  his  hand  and  taught  him  the  use  of  the  scali)ing-knife  and 
tomahawk ;  Avho  has  come  from  the  heavens  lar  beyond  the  place 
of  mountains  and  of  clouds  to  quaif  the  death-song,  and  to  welcome 
to  the  land  of  the  great  hereafter  tlie  spirit  of  his  undegenerate  son. 
The  chief  is  inflamed  with  a  glorious  ra])ture  that  exalts  him  beyond 
the  sensation  of  pain,  and  conquers  agony.  "  He  holds  no  parley 
with  unmanly  fears." 

"  The  son  of  Alcnomon  has  ceased  to  endure ; 
He  consented  to  die,  but  he  scorned  to  complain." 

" '  It  seems  a  duty  incumbent  on  us  all  to  think  well  of  ourselves 
and  of  our  powers.  But  then  comes  the  question.  Where  falls  the 
limit  to  be  fixed  at  which  this  feeling  must  cease  ?  We  answer, 
Nature  and  the  real  necessities  of  life  discover  to  a  man  the  actual 
extent  of  his  powers.  Nature,  reality,  and  truth,  are  the  only 
tests.  .  .  . 

" '  To  show  that  the  innate  consciousness  of  power  often  sustains 
a  person  amidst  severely  trying  difficulties,  we  may  relate  a  well- 
authenticated  anecdote  of  Nelson.  When  a  very  young  man  in  the 
rank  of  midshipman,  he  was  returning  from  India  on  sick  leave,  with 
his  health  broken  by  the  climate,  and  his  spirits  depressed  by  the 
feeling  that  he  was  cast  ofi'  from  his  profession,  and  that  he  could 
never  rise  further  in  it.  Sitting  one  day  solitarily,  meditating  on  all 
this,  his  thoughts  reverted  to  the  great  naval  heroes  who  had  fought 
and  won  his  country's  battles,  and  gained  for  England  the  empire 
of  the  deep  ;  when  a  bright  ray  of  hope  seemed  to  shine  before  him, 
that  filled  his  soul  with  intense  pleasure,  and  made  him  exclaim  :  "  I 
will  be  a  hero  ;  England  will  not  cast  me  oif ;  p]ngland's  king  will 
be  my  patron  and  my  friend."  He  often  afier  spoke  of  this  ray 
which  did  indeed  blaze  forth,  and  lighted  his  path  to  renown,  till 
the  noble  watch-word  of  Trafilgar  insured  his  last  and  crowninir 


THE    PKOFESSOK    AND    HIS    CLASS.  249 

triumph,  and  the  name  of  Nelson  was  known  as  widely  as  the  name 
of  Kngland.' 

"  Tliis  taint  sketch  taken  at  the  time  may  serve,  with  all  its  im- 
perfections, to  give  some  idea  of  the  substance  of  this  noble  lecture, 
but  it  cannot  convey  to  any  not  present  tlie  slightest  conception  of 
the  transcendent  power  and  overwhelming  eloquence  with  which 
it  was  deUvered,  or  of  its  electrifying  effects  upon  the  audience. 
The  whole  soul  of  the  man  seemed  infused  into  his  subject,  and  to 
be  rushing  forth  Avith  resistless  tbrce  in  the  torrent  of  his  rapidly- 
rolling  words.  As  he  spoke,  his  whole  frame  quivered  with  emotion. 
He  evidently  saw  the  scene  he  described,  and  such  was  the  sympa- 
thetic force  of  his  strong  poetic  imagination,  that  he  made  us, 
whether  we  would  or  not,  see  it  too.  Now  dead  silence  held  the 
class  captive.  In  the  interval  of  his  words  you  would  have  heard  a 
jjin  fall.  Again,  at  some  point,  the  applause  could  not  be  restrained, 
and  was  vociferous.  Especially  when  the  dying  scene  in  his  descrip- 
tion of  the  North  American  Indian's  virtues  reached  its  glorious 
consummation,  the  cheers  were  again  and  again  re])eated  by  every 
voice,  till  the  roof  rang  again,  and  Sir  William  Hamilton,  not  less 
enthusiastic  in  his  aj)[)lause  than  the  very  youngest  of  the  students 
behind  him,  actually  stood  up  and  clapped  his  hands  with  evident 
delight  and  approbation. 

"  1  have  heard  some  of  the  greatest  orators  of  the  day, — Lords 
Derby,  Brougham,  Lyndhurst;  Feel,  O'Connell,  Shell,  FoUett,  Chal- 
mers, Caird,  Guthrie,  M'Neile ;  1  have  heard  some  of  these  in  their 
very  best  styles  make  some  of  tlieir  most  celebrated  appearances ; 
but  lor  popular  eloquence,  lor  resistless  force,  for  the  seeming  inspi- 
ration that  swayed  the  soul,  and  the  glowing  sympathy  that  en- 
tranced tlie  hearts  of  his  entire  audience,  that  lecture  by  Professor 
Wilson  far  excelled  the  loftiest  etibrts  of  the  best  of  these  I  ever 
listened  to;  and  1  have  long  come  to  the  decided  conclusion  that  if 
he  had  chosen  the  sacred  profession,  and  given  his  whole  heart  and 
'  soul  to  his  work,  he  would  have  raised  the  fame  of  pulpit  oratory 
to  a  pitch  far  beyond  what  it  ever  has  reached,  and  gained  a  celeb- 
rity and  success  as  a  preacher  second  to  none  in  the  annals  of  the 
Church. 

"The  course  was  continued  in  k-ctures  on,  (1.)  Jealousy,  which 
was  illustrated  by  a  very  splendid  ami  elaborate  analysis  of  the 
character  of  Othello,  in  which  the  erroneousness  of  the  couunou  idea 


250  MEMOm   OF   JOHN   WILSON. 

of  the  Moor  as  a  mere  victim  of  the  greon-eved  monster  Avas  very 
clearly  and  convincingly  exhibited  ;  (2.)  The  Love  of  Pleasure  ;  (3.) 
Hope  ;  (4.)  Fear  ;  (5.)  Happiness  or  Misery  in  this  Lii'e  arising  from 
the  lower  principles  of  humanity ;  (6.)  Association,  discussed  at 
great  length  and  with  very  great  metaphysical  acumen,  as  well  as 
copious  illustration  :  (7.)  Imagination,  treated  in  nine  most  interest- 
ing lectures ;  and,  (8.)  Conscience ;  which,  with  a  full  and  particular 
consideration  of  the  various  moral  systems  propounded  by  ancient 
and  modern  philosophy,  occupied  thirty  lectures. 

"In  the  next  division  of  the  course  the  Afiections  were  explained 
and  illustrated  in  a  series  of  sixteen  lectures,  in  which  all  the  wealth 
of  poetry  and  pathos  that  were  at  his  command  had  ample  scope 
and  glorious  display  in  picturing  scenes  of  domestic  and  social  life, 
and  in  drawing  from  the  whole  field  of  literature  examples  of  family 
affection  and  heroic  patiiotism.  Thus  we  had  the  picture  of  a  family 
— with  all  its  interpenetrating  relations,  of  the  elder  members 
towards  the  younger,  and  of  the  elder  towards  each  other ;  the 
strong  hold  which  any  absent  member  retains  over  the  affections  of 
aU  at  home,  and  the  jdeep  reverence  and  affectionate  love  with  which 
they  all  regard  the  head  of  the  family — set  before  us  in  a  manner 
to  rivet  attention,  by  connecting  with  it  a  very  fine  disquisition  on 
Burns's  '  Cottar's  Saturday  Xight.'  We  had  the  beautiful  pic- 
tures of  filial  aflection  drawn  by  Sophocles  and  Shakspere  respec- 
tively in  Antigone  and  Cordelia,  extemporaneously,  but  most  eftec- 
tively  and  splendidly  described.  This  extempore  lecture  was  imme- 
diately followed  up  by  another,  delivered  also  without  the  aid  of  any 
notes,  and  of  a  very  strange  and  discursive  character,  as  the  heads 
of  it  will  show  : — '  Antigone — Electra — Clytenmestra — Agr.mem- 
non — ^gisthus — Orestes — Good  old  Homer  who  never  i.ods — 
Ulysses — Acliilles — Peleus — The  Meeting  of  Laertes  and  Achilles — 
The  Lake  Poets — Southey  and  ^Yordsworth — Ajtples  and  Pears — 
Apple-pie ;'  but  in  which  the  Professor  succeeded  in  demonstrating 
the  vast  superiority  of  the  great  poets  of  antiquity,  in  delineating 
those  simple  touches  of  nature  that  go  to  prove  the  whole  world 
kin.  We  bad  then  parental  affection  copiously  illustrated  in  a 
series  of  lectures  containing  iiighly-wroaglit  pictures  of  an  outcast 
mother  sitting  begging  by  the  wayside,  of  emigrant  mothers  about 
to  be  devoured  in  a  l>urning  ship,  and  of  Virgil's  sketches  of  Evan- 
der  and  Pallas,  and  Mezentius  and  Lausus,  as  contrasted  with  Words- 


THE    PROFESSOR    AND    HIS    CLASS,  251 

worth's  sketch  of  the  '  statesman' Michael  and  his  son  Luke.  One 
whole  lecture  was  devoted  to  Shakspere's  character  of  C^mstance, 
as  exhibiting  the  workings  of  maternal  affection,  and  another  to 
Priam's  going  to  ransom  the  body  of  Hector  from  Achilles.  The 
paternal  affections  and  friendship  were  next  dealt  with  in  the  same 
interesting  manner,  with  illustrative  references  to  the  writings  of  Jer- 
emy Taylor,  Lord  Bacon,  Cicero,  Shakspere,  Dugald  Stewart,  Thom- 
son, and  Colei'idge.  This  part  of  the  course  was  wound  up  by  th'-p<^ 
very  able  lectures  on  Patriotism,  durhig  the  delivery  of  the  last  o.. 
which  one  of  the  few  memorable  '  scenes'  during  the  session  occurred 
in  the  class.  The  Pi'ofessor  had  begun  the  lecture  by  a  very  earnest 
and  powerful  defence  of  nationality  or  patriotism  against  the  attacks 
of  those  who  prefer  a  spirit  of  cosmopolitanism.  In  the  course  of 
this,  he  had  occasion  to  refer  to  the  views  of  Coleridge  and  Cheiievix 
on  the  character  of  fallen  nations,  and  particularly  to  the  very  pecu- 
liar relation  in  which  Scotland  had  long  stood  to  England ;  and  in 
dealing  with  this  latter  point  he  was  proceeding  with  the  remark, 
that  'the  great  Demosthenes  of  Ireland,  the  ruler  of  seven  millioni- 
of  the  iinest  i)easantry  in  the  world,  had  presumed  to  say  at  a  pub- 
lic meeting  that  the  reason  Scotland  had  never  been  conquered  wa(> 
that  S'--otland  had  never  been  worth  conquering.'  I  do  not  know 
how  the  lecture  as  written  would  have  dealt  with  this  charge,  for 
the  remark  led  to  an  interruption  of  its  delivery.  Some  Irish  stu- 
dents, resenting  the  contemptuous  tone  in  which  their  great  hero 
was  mentioned,  and  especially  taking  offence,  perhaps  justly,  at  the 
comical  way  in  which  the  word  '' pizzantry'  was  pronounced,  raised 
first  a  hiss,  and  then  a  howl,  which  provoked  counter-cheering  from 
the  more  numerous  Conservatives  present,  till  the  class-room  becnme 
for  a  i\i,\\  mimites  something  like  Babel  or  a  bear-garden.  For  a 
little  the  Professor  looked  calmly  on  ;  but  at  last,  fiirly  roused  l)y 
the  unusual  uproar,  he  threw  his  notes  aside,  and  drowning  all  noise 
by  the  stentorian  pitch  of  voice  in  which  he  repeated  the  sentence 
that  had  provoked  it  all,  he  on  the  sj)ur  of  the  moment  burst  forth 
in  a  most  eloquent  and  effective  denunciation  of  all  demagogues,  and 
of  all  Irish  demagogues  in  particular,  showing  in  return  for  O'Con- 
nell's  contemptuous  remark  about  Scotland,  the  exact  number  of 
English  pikemen  and  archers  that  had  sufficed  for  the  total  subju- 
gation of  Irelajid  ;  and  in  castigation  of  those  of  his  students  that 
hid  hissed  him,  launching  all  the  shafts  of  his  raillery,  and  these 


252  MEMOIR   OF   JOHN    WILSON". 

were  both  numerous  and  sharp,  at  modern  Radicalism,  and  its  cant 
phrase,  '  March  of  Intellect.'  The  scene  was  one  not  to  be  forgot- 
ten. It  was  the  only  occasion  any  expression  of  i)olilical  feeling 
or  bias  escaped  from  him ;  and  yet,  though  he  spoke  under  great 
excitement  and  with  merciless  severity,  he  said  nothing  that  made 
him  less  respected  and  admired  even  by  those  who  differed  from  him 
in  his  political  views.* 

"  The  course  was  concluded  by  a  series  of  about  twenty  lectures 
on  Natural  Theology,  m  which  that  subject  was  treated  m  a  manner 
altogether  worthy  of  its  vast  importance.  The  great  writers,  both 
ancient  and  modern,  were  reviewed  in  a  highly  philosophical  and 
finely  appreciatory  spirit.  The  ability  of  Hume  was  fully  admitted, 
and  his  arguments  met  as  fairly  and  successfully  as  they  have  ever 
been  ;  but  the  pretensions  of  Lord  Brougham  to  authority  in  the 
matter  were  called  in  question,  and  some  of  his  views  severely 
criticised.  The  moral  attributes  of  God  ;  the  duties  of  man  to  his 
Maker  ;  religion  in  the  abstract ;  the  immortality  and  immateriality 
of  the  soul;  the  moral  philosophy  of  the  Greeks,  and  especially  the 
doctrines  of  Socrates  and  Plato,  were  all  handled  in  a  way  befitting 
the  grandeur  and  sacredness  of  these  topics,  and  so  as  to  impress 
every  student  with  the  depth  and  earnestness  of  the  Professor's 
religious  views  and  feelings,  as  well  as  with  the  high-toned  morality 
of  his  whole  mind  and  temperament. 

"  And  now,  reviewing  generally  one's  old  impressions  of  the 
character  of  the  whole  course,  and  qualifying  these  by  the  help  of 
subsequent  experience  and  knowledge,  there  remains  a  very  decided 
conviction  that  while  the  overflowing  wealth  of  poetical  reference 
and  illustration,  and  the  somewhat  excessive  ornamentation  of  lan- 
guage, were  calculated  so  far  to  choke  and  conceal  the  systematic 
philosophy  of  the  lectures ;  to  amuse  rather  than  instruct  the  stu- 
dents ;  to  deprave  rather  than  chasten  and  purify  their  style  of  com- 
position ;  the  high  merits  and  distinguished  qualities  of  the  lectures 
are  indisputable,  and  their  tendency  to  engender  free  thought,  and 
to  encourage  large  and  liberal-uiiuded  study  of  the  works  of  all  the 

*  The  obnoxious  referonce  to  the  "  Liberator"  appears  to  have  been  subsequently  otiiittcd  from 
thft  lecture;  but  the  topic  in  reference  to  which  it  occurred  seems  to  have  been  one  in  which  the 
Professor  found  some  difficulty  in  restraining  his  contempt  for  some  of  the  cants  of  thi»  day 
about  Progress,  March  of  Intellect,  Ac.  Mr.  Nicolson  gives  me  the  following  extract  from  his 
notes  of  the  lectures  (IS49-9).  immediately  preceding  a  quotation  from  M.  Chenevix  on  ihe  ben^fltj 
of  public  instruction  as  the  surest  basis  of  stable  government : — "  These  sentiments  are  not  tha 
growth  of  Late  vears,  as  some  contemptible  persons  would  seem  to  insinuate." 


THE    rROFKSSOK    AND    HIS    CLASS.  253 

greatest  authors,  were  of  the  most  decided  and  purely  heneficial 
nature.  It  has  been  the  fashion  in  certain  quarters  to  decry  his 
lectures  as  loose  and  declamatory  ;  but  only  with  those  whose  judg- 
ment is  based  on  superficial  appearances  alone,  and  who  are  so 
destitute  of  every  thing  like  sympathy,  as  to  be  unable  to  appreciate 
excellence  that  squares  not  in  every  point  with  their  preconceived 
idea  of  it.  One  indubitable  advantage  was  possessed  by  all  Pro- 
fessor Wilson's  students,  who  had  '  eyes  to  see  and  eai's  to  hear,' 
viz.,  the  advantage  of  beholding  closely  the  workings  of  a  great  and 
generous  mind,  swayed  by  the  noblest  and  sincerest  impulses  ;  and 
of  listening  to  the  eloquent  utterances  of  a  voice  which,  reprobating 
every  form  of  meanness  and  duplicity,  was  ever  raised  to  its  loftiest 
pitch  in  recommendation  of  high-souled  honor,  truth,  virtue,  dis- 
interested love,  and  melting  charity.  It  was  something,  moreover, 
not  without  value  or  good  effect,  to  be  enabled  to  contemplate,  from 
day  to  day,  throughout  a  session,  the  mere  outward  aspect  of  one 
so  evidently  every  inch  a  man,  nay,  a  king  of  men,  in  whom  manly 
vigor  and  manly  beauty  of  person  were  in  such  close  keeping  with 
all  the  great  qualities  of  his  soul;  the  sight  at  once  carried  back  the 
youthful  student's  imagination  to  the  age  of  ancient  heroes  and 
demigods,  when  higher  spirits  walked  with  men  on  earth,  and  made 
an  impression  on  the  opening  mind  of  the  most  genial  and  ennobling 
tendency. 

"  The  Professor  was  not  generally  supposed  to  devote  much  time 
in  private  to  the  business  details  and  work  of  his  class.  But  all 
who  really  worked  for  him  soon  discovered  the  utter  erroneousness 
of  this  supposition.  Every  essay  given  in  to  him,  however  juvenile 
in  thought  and  expression,  was  read  by  him  with  the  most  patient 
and  judiciously  critical  care.  If  any  essay  afforded  proof  of  pains- 
taking research  or  of  nascent  power,  its  author  was  at  once  invited 
to  the  Professor's  house,  to  enjoy  the  benefit  of  private  conversa- 
tion, and  to  be  encouraged  and  directed  in  his  studies.  I  can  never 
forget  an  evening  which  I  spent  alone  with  him  in  such  circum- 
stances, when,  after  discussing  the  subject  and  views  of  some  essay 
that  had  taken  his  fancy,  and  favoring  me  with  some  invaluable 
hints  on  these,  he  launched  out  into  a  long  and  most  interest- 
ing discourse  on  most  of  the  great  men  of  his  time ;  and  sent  me 
away  at  a  late  hour,  not  only  gratified  with  his  noble  fr;ud<ness  of 
nature  and  manner,  but  more  than  ever  convinced  of  his  vast  and 


254  MEMOIK    OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

varied  powers  in  almost  every  field  of  knowledge.  Though  my 
intercourse  with  him  was  limited  entirely  to  student  life,  I  retain 
for  him  the  deepest  reverence  and  love. 

"  '  I  cannot  deem  thee  dead ;  like  the  perfumes 

Arising  from  Judea's  vanish'd  shrines, 
Thy  voice  still  floats  around  me ;  nor  can  tombs 

A  thousand  from  my  memory  hide  the  lines 
Of  beauty,  on  thine  aspect  wliich  abode, 
Like  streaks  of  sunshine  pictured  there  by  God.' " 

The  following  account  of  his  last  year's  professional  work  (the 
session  1850-1851)  is  furnished  by  the  medallist  of  the  year:* — 

"  The  first  thing  that  every  one  remarked  on  entering  his  class, 
was  how  thoroughly  he  did  his  proper  work  as  a  Professor  of 
Moral  Philosophy.  This  is  not  generally  known  now,  and  was  not 
even  at  that  time.  There  was  a  notion  that  he  was  there  Christo- 
pher North,  and  nothing  else  ;  that  you  could  get  scraps  of  poetry, 
bits  of  sentiment,  flights  of  fancy,  flashes  of  genius,  and  any  thing 
but  Moral  Philosophy.  Nothing  was  further  from  the  truth  in  that 
year  1850.  In  the  very  first  lecture  he  cut  into  the  core  of  the 
subject,  raised  the  question  which  has  always  in  this  country  been 
held  to  be  the  hardest  and  deepest  in  the  science  (the  origin  of  the 
Moral  Faculty),  and  hammered  at  it  through  the  great  part  of  the 
session.  Even  those  who  were  fresh  from  Sir  William  Hamilton's 
class,  and  had  a  morbid  appetite  for  swallowing  hard  and  angular 
masses  of  logic,  found  that  the  work  here  was  quite  stiff"  enough  for 
any  of  us.  It  was  not  till  the  latter  part  of  the  session,  in  his  lectures 
on  the  Aftections  and  the  Imagination,  that  he  adopted  a  looser  style 
of  treatment,  and  wandered  freely  over  a  more  invituig  field.  But 
it  is  not  enough  to  say  that  he  was  thorottghly  conscientious  in 
presenting  to  his  students  the  main  questions  for  their  consideration  ; 
I  am  bound  to  add  that  he  was  also  thoroughly  successful.  It  is 
well  known  that  his  own  doctrine  (though  it  was  never  quite  fixed, 
and  he  stated  publicly  to  his  class  at  the  close  of  his  last  session  that 
he  had  all  along  been  conscious  that  there  was  some  gap  in  it)  was 
opposed  to  the  general  Scotch  system  of  Moral  Philosophy.     His 

*  Mr.  Alex.indor  Taylor  Iiines,  who  says  in  reference  to  that  distinction: — "He  was  specially 
kind  to  me,  as  the  youn<;cst  who  had  ever  attained  that  honor,  much  coveted  at  that  time  as 
coming  from  himnelf;  for  when  the  University  offered  to  give  a  prize  to  his  class,  he  declined 
to  discontinue  his  own,  and  still  year  by  year  awarded  '  Profess<ir  Wilson's  Gold  MedaV  giving 
the  other  eeparately  or  cuniulalvvely.'' 


THE    PliOFESSOK    AND   HIS    CLASS.  ^00 

Eudaimonism  was  in  fact  a  sublimed  Utilitarianism  ;  so  refined  and 
sublimed  that  it  might  have  appeared  quite  a  Mr  course  to  have 
avoided  discussing  those  metaphysical  and  psychological  questions 
which  lie  at  the  roots  of  the  general  controversy.  He  did  not  follow 
this  course.  On  the  contrary,  he  laid  bare  the  whole  question  : 
Whether  conscience  be  a  product  of  experience,  or  an  original  and 
intuitive  faculty,  with  a  frankness  and  fairness  which  are  exceedingly 
rare,  and  wliich  impressed  most  those  who  most  differed  from  him ; 
and  at  the  same  time  with  a  perception  of  the  status  qucestio7iis, 
how  it  bore  on  all  that  followed,  and  how  the  teaching  of  each 
philosopher  bore  upon  it,  which  makes  me  regard  his  lectures  as 
the  most  comprehensive,  and  indeed  the  most  valuable  thing  in  our 
language  on  this  particular  question,  with  the  single  exception  of 
Sir  James  Mackintosh's  Dissertation. 

"His  ajipearance  in  his  class-room  it  is  far  easier  to  remember 
than  to  forget.  He  strode  into  it  with  the  professor's  gown  hang- 
ing loosely  on  his  arms,  took  a  comprehensive  look  over  the  mob 
of  young  laces,  laid  down  his  watch  so  as  to  be  out  of  the  reach  of 
his  sledge-hammer  fist,  glanced  at  the  notes  of  his  lecture  (generally 
written  on  the  most  wonderful  scraps  of  paper),  and  then,  to  the 
bewilderment  of  those  who  had  never  heard  him  before,  looked 
long  and  earnestly  out  of  the  north  window,  towards  the  spire  of 
the  old  Tron  Kirk  ;  until,  having  at  last  got  his  idea,  he  faced  round 
and  uttered  it  Avith  eye  and  hand,  and  voice  and  soul  and  spirit, 
and  bore  the  class  along  with  him.  As  he  spoke,  the  bright  blue 
eye  looked  with  a  strange  gaze  into  vacancy,  sometimes  sparkling 
with  a  coming  joke,  sometimes  darkening  before  a  rush  of  indignant 
eloquence;  the  tremulous  upi)er  lip  curving  with  every  wave  of 
thought  or  hint  of  passion,  and  the  golden-giay  hair  floating  on  the 
old  man's  mighty  shoulders — if  indeed  that  could  be  called  age, 
which  seemed  but  the  immortality  of  a  more  majestic  youth.*  And 
occasionally,  in  the  finer  frenzy  of  his  more  imaginative  passages — 

*  Of  the  "discipline  in  his  class"  in  1880,  alluded  to  by  Mr.  Burton,  Mr  Nicholson  B.iy8,  twenty 
years  later: — "I  shall  never  forget  the  foolish  appearance  presented  one  day  in  the  class  by  an 
unmannerly  fellow,  who  rose  from  his  seat  abo\it  ten  minutes  from  the  close  of  the  hour,  and 
l>r<)eeeded  to  the  door.  lie  found  some  dilliculty  in  opening  it,  and  was  retnrnin,!:  to  his  place, 
when  the  Professor  beckoned  him  to  his  desk,  and  stooping  down,  asked,  in  that  deep  tone  of  his, 
kindly,  but  with  a  touch  of  irony  in  the  question,' Are  you  unwell,  sir?'  'No,  sir.'  was  the  an- 
swer. 'Then  you  will  have  the  kindness  to  wait  till  the  close  of  the  lecture.'  The  experiment 
of  leaving  the  class  before  the  termination  of  the  hour  was  not  likely  to  be  again  attempted,  alter 
•uch  an  exhibition.'^ 


256  MEMOm   OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

as  when  he  spoke  of  Alexander,  clay-cold  at  Babylon,  with  tho 
world  lying  conquered  around  his  tomb,  oi  of  the  Highland  liills, 
that  pour  the  rage  of  cataracts  adown  their  riven  cliils,  or  even 
of  the  human  mind,  with  its  '  primeval  granitic  truths,'  the  grand 
old  fiice  flushed  with  the  proud  thought,  and  the  eyes  grew  dim 
with  tears,  and  tho  magnidcent  frame  quivered  with  a  universal 
emotion. 

"  It  was  something  to  have  seen  Professor  Wilson — this  all  con- 
fessed ;  but  it  was  something  also,  and  more  than  is  generally  un- 
derstood, to  have  studied  under  him." 


CHAPTER  XI. 


LITEEAET     AND     DOMESTIC     LIFE. 
1820-'26. 

In  Julv,  1819,  the  following  announcement  appeared  in  the  Book- 
lists :  "  In  the  press,  '  Lays  from  Fairy  Land,'  by  John  Wilson,  au- 
thor of '  The  Isle  of  Palms,'  "  etc. 

"  Doth  grief  e'er  sleep  in  a  Fairy's  breast? 
Are  Dirges  sung  in  the  land  of  Rest  ? 
Tell  us,  when  a  Fairy  dies, 
Hath  she  funeral  obsequies? 
Are  all  dreams  there,  of  woe  and  mirth, 
That  trouble  and  delight  on  earth  ?" 

In  the  Magazine  for  January,  1820,  one  of  these  lays  was  pub- 
lished, and  it  seemed  as  if  the  formula,  "  in  the  press,"  really  meant 
something  was  then  preparing  for  publication,  which  I  believe  is  all 
that  it  generally  conveys  to  the  initiated.  Beyond  that,  howevei-, 
the  Lays,  if  ever  in  the  press,  did  not  show  themselves  out  of  it.* 
From  dreams  of  Fairy  Land  the  author  had  been  roused  to  the  uii- 

*  Unless  I  except  a  previous  poem,  "The  Fairies,  a  Dreamlike  Remembrance  of  a  Dream,"  in 
the  Mairazlne  for  April,  1S18,  with  tho  sisrnatiire  of  N.,  evidently  his.  The  subject  was  a  favoritd 
one  with  him.  In  oue  of  his  Essays  there  is  a  very  beautiful  and  fanciful  description  of  a  fairies' 
burial. 


LITEKAEY    AND    DOMESTIC    LIFE.  257 

romantic  realities  of  Deacon  Paterson  and  his  green  bag.  The 
sober  certainty  of  a  course  of  Moral  Philosophy  lectures  took  the 
place  of  poetic  visions,  and  the  "folk  of  peace"  seem  thenceforth  to 
have  vanished  from  his  view,  so  far  at  least  as  singing  about  them 
was  concerned.  The  explanation  is  cleverly  given  in  the  lines  of 
P^nsign  O'Doherty,  in  the  Magazine  for  1821,  when  the  Professor 
was  doubtless  still  hard  at  work  on  the  Passions  and  the  Moral 
Factdty.     After  "  touching  oiF"  various  other  poets,  he  says : — 

"  Let  Wilson  roam  to  Fairy -land,  but  that's 
An  oldish  story :  I'll  lay  half-a-crown 
The  tiny  elves  are  smothered  in  his  gown." 

But  though  the  heavy  duties  of  his  first  session  put  an  end  for 
the  time  to  all  other  occupations,  his  literary  activity  was  rather 
stimulated  than  otherwise  by  his  elevation  to  the  chair.  With 
trifling  exceptions  his  literary  labors  were  confined  exclusively  to 
lilackwood'' s  Magazine^  and  their  extent  may  be  guessed  from  the 
fact,  that  for  many  years  his  contributions  were  never  fewer  on  an 
average  than  two  to  each  number.  I  believe  that,  on  more  than 
one  occasion,  the  great  bulk  of  the  entire  contents  of  a  number  was 
produced  by  him  during  the  currency  of  a  month.  No  periodical 
probably  was  ever  more  indebted  to  the  efibrts  of  one  individual 
than  "  Maga"  was  to  Wilson.  His  devotion  to  it  was  unswerving, 
and  whether  his  health  were  good  or  bad,  his  spirits  cheerful  or  de- 
pressed, his  pen  never  slackened  in  its  service.  He  became  identi- 
fied with  its  character,  its  aims,  and  its  interests ;  and  wearing,  as 
it  did,  such  strong  marks  of  a  controlling  individuality,  it  Avas  natu- 
rally believed  to  be  under  the  editorial  sway  of  the  hand  that  first 
subscribed  the  foraxidable  initials  of  "  Christopher  North."  The 
first  conception  of  that  remarkable  personage  was,  however,  as 
purely  mythical  as  the  "  Shepherd"  of  the  Noctes^  and  "  C.  N." 
notes  and  criticisms  were  freely  supplied  by  other  hands,  under  the 
direction  of  the  really  responsible  editor,  Mr.  Blackwood.  As  my 
father  gradually  invested  his  imaginary  ancient  with  more  and  more 
of  his  personal  attributes  and  experiences,  the  identification  became 
more  complete,  till  at  length  John  Wilson  and  Christopher  North 
were  recognized  as  names  synonymous.  Any  repudiation  of  the 
editorial  character  essentially  associated  with  the  latter  was  thence- 
forth regarded  as  but  a  part  of  the  system  of  mystification  wliicn 
had  distinguished  the  Magazine  from  the  beginning.  But  it  was 
11 


2ob  MEMOIR    OF   JOUX    WILSON. 

true,  nevertheless,  that  the  reins  of  practical  government  were 
throughout  in  the  hands  of  the  strong-minded  and  sagacious  pul)- 
lisher.  It  lay  with  him  to  insert  or  reject,  to  alter  or  keep  back ; 
and  though  of  course  at  all  times  open  to  the  advice  and  intiueiice 
of  his  chief  contributors,  his  was  no  merely  nominal  management, 
as  even  they  were  sometimes  made  to  experience. 

The  relation  between  him  and  my  flither,  considering  the  charac- 
ter of  the  two  men,  was  not  a  little  remarkable,  and  it  did  equal 
credit  to  both.  Wilson's  allegiance  to  the  Magazine  was  steady  and 
undivided.  He  could  not  have  labored  for  it  more  faithfully  had  it 
been  his  own  property.*  This  itself  would  suffice  to  prove  high 
qualities  in  the  man  who  owned  it.  Mere  self-interest  does  not 
bind  men  in  such  perfect  mutual  consideration  and  confidence  as 
subsisted  between  them  throughout  their  lives.  It  required  on 
both  sides  true  manliness  and  generosity,  combined  with  tact  and 
forbearance,  and  every  kind  feeling  that  man  can  show  to  man. 
Blackwood's  belief  in  Wilson  was  unbounded,  not  simply  from  ad- 
miration of  his  great  powers,  but  because  he  knew  that  he  could 
rely  on  him  to  the  utmost,  both  as  a  contributor  and  a  friend. 
Wilson's  respect  and  affection  for  Mr.  Blackwood  were  equally  sin- 
cere and  well  founded  ;  and  when  he  followed  him  to  the  grave,  he 
felt  that  no  truer  friend  remained  behind.  It  is  pleasant  to  be  able 
to  say  that  these  relations  of  mutual  esteem  and  confidence  were 
continued  uninterrupted  after  the  Magazine  came  into  the  hands 
of  Mr.  Blackwood's  sons,  who  were  able  to  appreciate  the  genius 
and  the  labor  that  had  done  so  much  to  make  their  own  and  theii 
father's  name  famous  throughout  the  world. 

In  the  miscellaneous  correspondence  that  follows,  extending  over 
many  years,  the  reader  will  gather  an  idea  of  my  father's  varied 
relations,  and  of  the  general  tenor  of  his  life ;  but  before  passing 
from  the  subject  at  present,  mention  may  here  be  made  of  the  pub- 
lication in  1822  of  a  volume  of  his  prose  compositions,  under  the 
title  of  "Lights  and  Shadows  of  Scottish  Life,  a  selection  from  the 
palters  of  the  late  Arthur  Austin."  Some  of  these  had  appeared  in 
Blacktcood  under  the  signature  "  Eremus,"  which  will  also  be  found 
affixed  to  several  poems  in  the  very  early  numbers  of  the  Magazine. 

*  '-Of  .ill  Uie  -writers  in  it(the  M-iirazine),  I  have  done  most  for  the  Least  remuneration,  though 
Mr.  B.  and  I  have  never  once  had  one  word  of  dis.ajjreeineut  on  that  subject." — MS.  letter  of  W  0- 
soli,  dated  1S33. 


LITKKARY    AND    DOMESTIC    LIFE.  259 

Th«>,se  beautiful  tales  have  acquired  a  popularity  of  tlie  most  endur- 
ing kind.  They  are,  indeed,  poems  in  prose,  in  which,  amid  fanci- 
ful scenes  and  characters,  the  struggles  of  humanity  are  depicted 
with  pathetic  fideUty,  and  the  noblest  lessons  of  virtue  and  religion 
are  interwoven,  in  no  imaginary  harmony,  with  the  homely  realities 
of  Scottish  peasant  life. 

The  emoluments  of  his  new  position,  combined  with  his  literary 
earnings,  enabled  him,  after  a  few  years,  to  remove  from  Ids  house 
in  Ann  Street  to  a  more  commodious  residence  at  no  great  distance. 
He  was  also  in  a  position  once  more  to  take  up  his  summer  quarters 
in  his  beautiful  villa  at  Elleray,  the  place  which  he  loA'ed  above  all 
others  on  earth;  and  in  the  summer  of  1823  we  find  him  there, 
with  his  wife  and  children,  again  under  the  old  roof-tree.  After 
the  labors  of  the  College  session,  and  so  long  a  separation  from  a 
spot  so  dear  to  him,  it  was  not  unnatural  that  he  should  crave  some 
relaxation  from  work  ;  and  in  spite  of  his  publisher's  desire  to  liear 
from  him,  the  study  for  a  time  was  deserted  for  the  fiekls.  He  was 
in  the  habit  of  sauntering  the  whole  day  long  among  the  woods  and 
walks  of  Elleray.  This  delightful  time,  however,  had  its  interrup- 
tions. The  indefatigable  publisher  writes  letter  after  letter,  re- 
minding him  that  the  Magazine  and  its  readers  must  be  fed.  Mr. 
Blackwood's  letters  discover  the  shrewd  and  practical  man  of  busi- 
ness, temperate  in  judgment,  and  reasonable,  though  a  little  too 
much  inclined  sometimes  to  the  use  of  strong  epithets — a  habit  too 
common  with  literary  men  of  that  day,  but  now  fortunately  out  of 
foshion.  From  these  letters  m;iy  be  gathered  the  true  relation  oi 
Wilson  to  Blackwood'' s  3Iar/a:d>ie.     On  the  IStli  of  May  he  says  : — 

"  My  dear  Sir  : — For  nearly  a  week  I  have  either  been  myself, 
or  had  one  of  my  sons  waiting  the  arrival  of  the  Carlisle  mail,  as  I 
never  doubted  but  that  you  would  give  me  your  best  help  this 
month.  It  never  was  of  so  much  consequence  to  me,  and  I  still 
hope  that  a  parcel  is  on  the  way. 

"  That  I  may  be  able  to  wait  till^he  last  moment  for  any  thin*^' 
of  yours,  I  am  keejung  the  Magazine  back,  and  have  resolvetl  to  let 
it  take  its  chance  of  arrival  by  not  sending  it  off  till  the  28th,  when 
it  will  go  by  the  steamboat ;  this  will  just  allow  it  time  to  be  deliv- 
fcred  on  the  31st,  and  if  no  accident  occur,  it  will  be  in  time. 

"  I  wrote  you  on  the  3d  with  Waugh's  Review,  and  a  few  other 


260  MEMOIR    OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

things.     I  wrote  you  again  with  the  periodicals  on  the  6th.     Both 
parcels  were  directed  according  to  your  letter,  to  be  forwarded  by 

Ambleside  coach  by  Mr. or  Mr.  Jackson.     I  liope  you  have 

received  them  and  the  former  parcel. 

"  Qxenthi  Dimcanl  is  to  be  out  on  Tuesday,  when  I  will  send  it 
to  you.  Reginald*  is  not  quite  finished,  but  will  be  aii  at  press  in 
a  day  or  two.  Mr.  Lockhart  has  done  Barry  Cornwallf  and  Tim'st 
Viscount  Soligny  in  good  style.  My  not  hearing  from  you,  how- 
ever, discourages  him,  and  I  fear  much  this  number  will  not  be  at 
all  what  I  so  confidently  expected  it  would  have  been. 

"  I  shall  be  happy  to  hear  that  you  are  all  well  again. 
"  I  am,  my  dear  sir,  yours  truly, 

"  W.  Blackwood.'' 

About  this  time,  Mr,  Leigh  Hunt  was  advised  to  threaten  lega' 
proceedings  against  the  London  publisher  of  the  Magazine,  Mi. 
Cadell,  who  appears  to  have  been  greatly  alarmed  by  this  prospect, 
not  having  been  quite  so  accustomed  to  that  species  of  intimation 
as  Mr.  Blackwood.  He  accordingly  Avrote  to  Edinburgh,  giving  a 
very  grave  and  circumstantial  account  of  the  visit  he  h.rd  received 
from  Mr.  Hunt's  solicitor.  Mr.  Blackwood  and  his  contributors 
took  the  matter  much  more  coolly,  as  may  be  seen  from  the  follow- 
ing letter  from  Mr.  Lockhart,  whose  oonchnling  advice  is  eminently 
characteristic.  Indeed,  all  Mr.  Lockhart's  letters  to  my  father,  as 
will  be  seen,  are  marked  by  the  satirical  power  of  the  man — piquant, 
racy,  gossiping,  clever,  and  often  affectionate  and  sincere  :- 

"Edixburch,  Friday,  June,  182^. 

"  My  deak  Professor  : — Blackwood  sends  you  by  this  post  a 
copy  of  the  second  letter  from  Cadell,  so  that  you  know,  ere  you 
read  this,  as  much  of  the  matter  as  I  do. 

"  I  own  that  it  appears  to  me  impossible  toe  should  at  thistime  of  day 
suffer  it  to  be  said  that  any  man  who  wishes  in  a  gentlemanly  way 
to  have  our  names  should  not' have  them.  I  own  that  I  would 
rather   suffer  any  thing  than  have  a  Cockney  crow  in  that  sort. 

♦  lieginiihi  DnJton.     By  ^fr.  Lockhart. 

t  The  Flood  of  TheHKiily,  Tin'  Girl  of  Provence,  and  other  Poems.    By  Barry  Cornwall  Svo- 
X  A  Houbriquet  for  Mr.  Patinore,  the  rL-putedautlior  of  LetUrx  on  iSngUind.     By  Victor  Count 
U- Solisruy.     2  vol.s.     l'<2i\  ami  My  Friends  tiiul  Ac<pi(iintanee^.     3  vols.     1854. 


LITERARY    AND    DOMESTIC    LITE.  2G1 

But  Still  there  is  no  occasion  for  rashness,  and  I  do  not  believe  Hunt 
had  that  sort  of  view ;  at  all  events,  he  has  not  acted  as  if  he  had. 

"  My  feeling  is  that  in  the  next  number  of  the  Magazine  there 
should  be  a  note  to  this  effect : — '  A  certain  London  publi.slier  has 
been  making  some  vague  and  unintelligible  inquiries  at  the  shop  of 
our  London  publisher.  If  he  really  wishes  to  communicate  with 
the  author  of  the  article  which  has  offended  him,  let  him  not  come 
double-distilled  through  the  medium  of  booksellers,  but  write  at 
once  to  the  author  of  the  article  in  question  (he  may  call  him  N.  B, 
for  the  present),  under  cover  to  Mr.  Blackwood,  \1  Princes  Street, 
Edinburgh.     He  will  then  have  his  answer.' 

"  Whether  such  a  notification  as  this  should  or  not  be  sent  pre- 
viously I  doubt — but  incline  to  the  negative;  at  all  events,  the 
granting  of  it  Avill  save  our  credit ;  and  as  for  Hunt,  how  stands 
the  matter  ?  First,  Suppose  he  wishes  to  bring  an  action  against 
the  author ;  against  you  he  has  no  action,  and  that  he  knows  ;  but 
you  would  probably  give  him  no  opportunity  of  bringing  one ;  at 
least,  i)oor  as  I  am,  I  know  I  would  rather  pay  any  thing  than  be 
placarded  as  the  defendant  in  such  an  action.  2c7/y,  Suppose  he 
wishes  to  challenge  the  author.  He  cannot  send  a  message  to  yoxi^ 
having  printed  the  last  number  of  the  Liberal*  Therefore,  either 
way,  the  affair  must  come  to  naught ;  I  mean  as  to  any  thing 
serious. 

"  Blackwood  is  going  to  London  next  week,  and  will  probably 
visit  you  on  the  way,  when  you  and  he  can  talk  over  this  fully ; 
but  ere  then,  I  confess,  I  should  like  to  have  your  consent  to  print 
such  a  note  as  I  have  mentioned.  I  caimot  endure  the  notion  of 
these  poltroons  crowing  over  us ;  and  being  satisfied  that  no  serious 
consequences  can  result,  I  do  think  the  thing  ought  to  be  done. 
Read  Cadell's  letter,  and  think  of  it,  and  write  me. 

"  Above  all,  for  God's  sake,  be  you  well  and  hearty  !  Who  the 
devil  cares  for  Cockneydom?  Write  a  good  article,  and  take  a 
couple  of  tumblers.  Yours,  affly, 

"J.  G.  L. 

"P.  S. — Reginald  Daltonf  is  doing  very  well.  The  London 
subscription    was    831,  which    Ebony  thought  great    lor  a  three- 

•  The  number  of  the  Liberal,  I  presume,  containinsr  nn  article  on  the  Scottish  character,  In 
which  the  Blackwood  wTitcrs  arc  coiiipan-d  to  "a  troop  of  Yahoos,  or  a  tribe  of  satyr-;." 
t  Reginald  Daltoii  aiul  Adam  liUiir  wore  aiioiiyiuous  novels  written  by  Mr.  LncklurU 


262  mp:moir  of  jonx  wilson, 

volume  affair.  In  a  new  magazine  (Kniglit's)  set  up  by  tlie 
'Etonians,'  there  is  an  article  on  Lifjhts  and  Shadows,  Adcm 
JBlair,  etc.,  in  which  you  are  larded  tolerably,  and  but  toleralily, 
and  the  ])Oor  Scorpion  still  more  scurvily  treated.  It  is  their  open- 
ing article  and  their  best.  The  choice  exhibits  weakness,  and  con- 
scious weakness.  No  other  news.  Mich  and  Poor*  is  a  clever 
book,  but  very  methodistical.  I  have  read  about  half  of  it.  I  wiU 
write  you  a  long  lettei',  if  you  will  write  me  any  thing  at  all." 

A  fragment  of  a  letter  from  Mr.  Lockhart,  written  about  the 
same  time,  contains,  like  all  his  effusions,  something  racy  and 
characteristic.  His  expressions  of  interest  with  regard  to  Mrs. 
Wilson's  health  are  more  than  friendly.  The  first  few  lines  of  this 
fragment  refer  to  a  paper  in  Jjlackicood'' s  Mafjazine  for  July,  1823, 
"On  the  Gormandizing  School  of  Eloquence,"  "No.  I.  Mr.  D. 
Abercromby."  In  such  scraps  as  this  we  find  the  salt  which  fla- 
vored his  letters,  and  Avithout  which  he  could  not  have  written  : — 

"  WTio  is  Mr.  D.  Abercromby  ?  You  have  little  sympathy  for 
a  brother  glutton.  What  would  you  think  of  the  Gormandizing 
School,  Xo.  II.  '  Professor  John  Wilson  ?'  I  could  easily  toss  off 
such  an  article  if  you  are  anxious  for  it,  taking  one  of  the  dilettante 
dinners,  perhaps,  and  a  speech  about  Michael  Angelo  by  David 
Bridges,!  for  the  materials.  No.  HI.  '  Peter  Robertson ;'  No.  IV. 
'  Wull.'  Miss  Edge  worth  is  at  Abbotsford,  and  has  been  for  some 
time;J  a  little,  dark,  bearded,  sharp,  withered,  active,  laughing, 
talking,  impudent,  fearless,  outspoken,  honest,  Whiggish,  unchris- 
tian, good-tempered,  kindly,  ultra-Irish  body.  I  like  her  one  day, 
and  damn  her  to  perdition  the  next.  She  is  a  very  queer  character ; 
particulars    some   other   time.     She,  Sir  Adam,§   and   the   Great 

♦  Rich  and  Poor,  and  Common  ErenU,  a  continuation  of  the  former,  anonymous  novels,  wbicli 
were  ascril)e<l  to  Miss  Annie  Walker. 

t  Mr.  David  Bridges,  d»bb<-d  by  the  Blackwood  wits,  "  Director-General  of  the  Fine  Arts." 
For  a  description  of  his  shop,  which  was  much  resorted  to  by  artists,  see  Peter's  Letteris,  vol 
iL,  p.  23(>. 

i  Miss  Edeeworth's  visit  was  in  Ani^ust,  1S23.  "Never  did  I  see  a  brighter  day  at  Abbotsforo 
than  that  on  whii-h  Miss  Edjreworth  first  arrived  there ;  never  can  I  forget  her  look  and  accent 
when  she  was  received  by  him  at  his  archway,  and  exclaimed.  'Every  thins  about  you  is  ex- 
a<lly  what  one  oueht  to  have  had  wit  enough  to  dream."" — Scott'g  Life. 

%  Sir  Adam  Fergusson,  the  schoolfellow  of  Scott,  died  on  Christmas  day,  lSo4.  Mr.  Chamber* 
rem.irks,  in  a  biographical  sketch  of  the  good  old  knight,  published  shortly  after  his  death,  th^t 
•iii.any  interesting  and  ple^iscinl  memories  hovered  around  the  name  of  this  fine  old  man,  an.^ 


LITERARY    AlsD   DOMESTIC    LIFE.  2G3 

Unknown,  are  '  too  much  for  any  company,'  Tom  Purdie  is  well, 
and  sends  his  conipts.  ;*  so  does  Laidlaw.f  I  have  invited  Hogg  to 
dine  here  to-morrow,  to  meet  Miss  Edgeworth.  Slie  has  a  great 
anxiety  to  see  the  Bore. 

"If  you  answer  this  letter,  I  shall  write  you  a  whole  budget  of 
news  next  week;  if  not,  I  hope  to  see  you  and  IMrs.  Wilson  in  good 
health  next  12tli  of  November,  till  when  I  shall  remain  your  silent 
and  iifii'ctionate  brother-glutton,  J.  G.  Lockhart. 

"  N".  B. — Hodge-podge  is  in  glory ;  also  Fish.  Potatoes  damp  and 
small.  Mushrooms  begin  to  look  up.  Limes  abundant.  Weather 
just  enough  to  make  cold  punch  agreeable.  JMiss  Edgeworth  says 
Peter  Robertson  is  a  man  of  genius,  and  if  on  the  stage,  would  be  a 
second  Liston.  How  are  the  Misses  Watson  ?  Give  my  love  to 
Miss  Charlotte  when  you  see  her ;  and  do  let  me  know  what  passed 
between  you  and  the  Stamp-Master,|  the  Opium-Eater,  etc.,  etc. 
LL.  D.  Southey  is,  I  suppose,  out  of  your  beat." 

The  remaining  portion  of  this  season  spent  at  Elleray  contributed 
(as  appears  by  allusions  in  the  following  letters)  not  a  small  share 
of  its  occupations  to  the  satisfaction  and  gratitude  of  Mr.  Black- 
wood : — 


In  his  removal  from  the  world  one  Important  link  between  the  Old  and  the  New  is  severed. 
It  will  be  almost  startling  to  our  readers  to  hear  that  there  lived  so  lately  one  who  could  sjiy 
he  had  sat  on  the  kneo  of  David  Hume."     He  was  about  a  year  older  than  Sir  Walter. 

*  Scott's  I'aithful  servant,  and  art'ectionately  devoted,  humble  friend,  from  the  time  that  Tom 
was  brought  bct'ore  Sir  Walter  in  his  capacity  as  Sherill".  on  a  charge  of  poaching,  and  .promoted 
Into  his  service,  till  his  death,  which  took  place  in  182!).  A  full  acc<juut  of  his  peculiarities  will 
be  found  in  Lockhart's  Life  of  Scott. 

t  William,  or,  as  he  was  always  called,  Willie  Laidlaw,  was  the  factor  and  friend  of  Sir  Walter 
Scott  at  Abbotsford,  and  latterly  his  ainaiuunsis;  and  in  this  case  "the  manly  kindness  and 
consideration  of  one  noble  nature  was  parall  kil  by  the  affectionate  devotion  and  admiration  of 
another."  His  family  still  retiiins  as  sacred  the  pens  with  which  he  wrote  Iinnhoe  to  his  mas- 
ter's dictation;  and  he  used  to  tell  that  at  the  most  intense  parts  of  the  story,  when  Scott  ha|>- 
poned  to  pause,  which  he  very  seldom  did,  running  off,  as  he  said,  "like  lintseed  oot  o"  a  poek," 
Laidlaw  e.agerly  asked,  "  What  next?"  "Ay,  Willie  num,  what  next!  that's  the  deevil  o't !"  so 
possessed  with  the  reality  of  the  talc  was  the  busy  pennum.  It  is  a  curious  subject  how  much 
ond  how  little  an  author  such  as  Scott  can  control  his  own  creatures.  If  tln-y  live  and  move. 
they  possess  him  often  as  much  as  he  them.  That  "shaping  spirit"  within  him  is  by  turno 
master  and  slave.  Some  one  asked  the  consummate  author  of  £VOTf>W(/,  "  Why  did  you  .et  l-^- 
mond  marry  his  mother  in-law?"     "I!  it  was'nt  I;  they  did  it  themselves." 

Of  his  Lucy's  Flitting,  my  father  said,  "'Tis  one  of  the  sweetest  things  in  the  world:  not  a 
few  staves  of  his  have  I  sung  in  the  old  days  when  we  used  to  wash  our  faces  in  the  Douglas 
Burn,  and  yoiu  .lames,  were  the  herd  in  the  hill.  Oh  me!  those  sweet,  sweet  days  o'  langsyiii, 
Jamie.     Here's  Willie  Laidlaw's  health,  gentlemen !" — Noctes. 

Mr.  Laidlaw  died  in  1840. 

%  Wordsworth. 


264  MEMOm   OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

"Edinburgh,  September  G,  1823. 

"  My  dear  Sir  : — I  hope  you  would  receive  the  coach  parcel  yes- 
terday or  to  day,  and  I  expect  I  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  receiving 
a  packet  from  you  by  Monday  or  Tuesday.  Being  so  anxious  to 
make  tiiis  a  very  strong  number,  I  have  put  nothing  up  yet  till  I  see 
Avhat  you  and  Mr.  Lockhart  send  me.  lie  is  to  send  me  some- 
thing on  Monday,  and  if  I  receive  Hayley*  in  time,  I  intend  to 
begin  the  number  with  it.  I  have  time  enough  yet,  as  this  is  only 
the  0th,  but  in  the  beginning  of  the  week  I  must  be  getting  on.  1 
rely  so  confidently  upon  you  doing  all  that  you  can,  that  I  ieel  quite 
at  ease,  at  least  as  much  as  ever  I  can  be  till  I  see  the  last  form 
fairly  made  up.  I  have  not  received  the  continuation  of  your 
brother's  aiticle ;  Mr.  Robert  promised  to  write  him  as  he  is  still 
in  the  West.  Dr.  Mylne  told  me  to-day  that  he  had  met  him  a 
few  days  ago  at  Lord  John  Campbell's,  and  that  he  was  j^retiy 
well. 

"  Your  friend,  Mr.  Lowndes  from  Paisley,  was  inquiring  for  you 
here  to-day.  I  had  a  letter  this  morning  from  Mr.  Blair,  in  wliich 
he  apologizes  for  not  having  fulfilled  his  engagement,  and  says,  '  It 
has  not  been  neglect  of  your  claims,  to  which  I  have  devoted  both 
time  and  labor,  but  a  complete  want  of  success  in  every  thing  I 
have  attempted.  I  should  have  written  you  some  apology,  but  that 
I  had  always  hopes  of  completing  something  before  another  month, 
and  the  only  reason  I  had  for  sending  nothing,  seemed  almost  too 
absurd  to  write.  I  know  nothing  else  I  can  say  till  I  have  some- 
thing else  than  excuses  to  send.  I  am  at  this  moment  engaged  on 
an  essay  on  a  question  of  language,  which  I  shall  be  glad  if  I  can 
send  for  your  number  now  going  on,  and  I  have  been  making  re- 
marks on  "  Hunter's  Captivity  among  the  Indians,"  with  the  inten 
tion  of  reviewing  it,  which  I  shall  go  on  with  if  I  hear  nothing  from 
you  to  the  contrary.' 

"  He  gives  me  no  address,  but  merely  dates  his  letter  Dudley 
Perhaps  you  will  write  him,  and  tell  him  not  to  be  over-fixstidious. 
and  point  out  to  him  something  he  should  do.  I  have  sent  Mr 
L[o(khart]  to-day  Alaric'sf  paj)er,  in  which  there  is  a  grand  i)uff 
of 'Maga;'  he  will  fijrward  it  to  you. 

"  Maginn  writes  me  in  high  glee  about  this  number,  and  says  he 

*  A  review  of  Ilayley's  Memoirti,  Art.  X.,  Septcmbor,  1S2S. 
t  Alaric  A.  Wiitts,  then  cilitor  of  the  Leeds  Intelllgeiicer. 


LITERARY    AND    DOMESTIC    LIFE.  205 

will  send  something.  I  hope  I  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  hearing 
from  you  very  soon,  and  I  am,  my  dear  sir,  yours  very  truly, 

"  W.  Blackwood." 

"Saturday  Morning,  September  20,  1823. 
"  My  dear  Sir  : — Before  coming  home  last  night  I  got  all  to 
press,  so  that  I  will  be  able  to  send  you  a  complete  copy  of  tlie 
Number  with  this,  by  the  mail  to-day.  You  will,  I  hope,  tiud  it  a 
very  good  one,  and  though  not  equal  in  some  respects  to  No.  79, 
it  is  superior  in  some  others.  On  Wednesday  morning  I  did  not 
expect  to  have  got  this  length,  nor  to  have  had  it  such  a  number. 
By  some  mistake  I  did  not  get  back  from  Mr.  L[ockhart]  till  Wed- 
nesday afternoon  the  slips  of  O'Doherty  on  Don  Juan  and  Timothy 
Tickler.  Not  hearing  from  you  or  him  on  Tuesday  morning,  I 
made  up  Doubleday's  'Picturesque'*  with  Crewe's  'Blunt,'t  and 
•  Bartlemy  Fair,'  by  a  new  correspondent,  whom  I  shall  tell  you 
al)out  before  I  have  done;  and  not  knowing  how  I  might  be  able 
to  make  up  the  Number,  I  put  in  Mr.  St.  Barbe's  '  Gallery,' J  and 
'The  Poor  Man-of- War's  Man,'  both  of  which  had  been  in  types 
for  three  or  four  months.  There  being  no  time  to  lose,  I  got  these 
lour  forms  to  press ;  I  wish  now  T  had  waited  another  day,  and  kept 
'  The  jMan-of- War's  Man,'  but  still  I  hope  it  will  pass  muster,  and  I 
hope  you  will  read  it  without  prejudice.  You  will  naturally  be  say- 
ing. Why  did  I  not,  when  run  in  such  difficulty,  make  up  and  put 

to  press  your  articles  on ,  and  the  Murderers  ?     Here  I  am 

iitVnid  you  will  blame  me,  but  first  hear  me.  When  I  first  read 
your  terrible  scraping  of I  enjoyed  it  excessively,  but  on  see- 
ing it  in  types,  I  began  to  feel  a  little  for  the  poor  monster,  and 
above  all,  Avhen  I  considered  that  it  might  perhaps  so  irritate  the 
creature  as  to  drive  him  to  some  beastly  i)ersonal  attack  upon  you, 
1  thought  it  better  to  pause.  I  felt  quite  sure  that  if  published  in 
its  present  state,  he  Avould  be  in  such  a  state  of  rage,  he  would  at 
all  events  denounce  you  everywhere  as  the  author.  This  would  be 
most  unpleasant  to  your  feelings,  for  now  that  one  can  look  at  the 
article  coolly,  there  are  such  coarseness  and  personal  things  in  it  ::s 
one  would  not  like  to  hear  it  said  that  you  were  the  author  of 

♦  Art.  I.  in  the  Niimbor. 

+  Art  II.  a  review  of  Ulunt's  Vextiges  of  Ancient  Manners,  tfea 

X  Art.  IV.  '•Time'.'!  WiiisptMing  Gallery." 

u* 


266  MEMOIK   OF   JOHN    "SMI. SUN. 

There  was  no  time  for  me  to  write  you  with  a  sUp,  and  I  sent  it  to 

Mr. ,  begging  him  to  consider  it,  and  write  me  if  he  thought 

he  could  venture  to  Tnake  any  alterations.  I  did  not  get  his  packet 
till  "Wednesday,  and  he  then  wrote  that  he  could  not  be  art  or  part 
in  the  murder  of  his  own  dedicator.  In  these  circumstances,  I 
thi  ught  it  safest  to  let  the  article  be  for  next  number,  that  you 
might  correct  it  yourself.  I  hope  you  will  think  I  have  done  right, 
and  I  would  anxiously  entreat  of  you  to  read  the  article  as  if  it  were 
■written  by  some  other  person.     Few  of  the  readers  of 'Maga'  know 

• and  weak  minds  would  be  startled  by  some  of  your  strong 

expressions.*  It  was  chiefly  on  account  of  the  length  of  the  ex- 
tracts that  I  delayed  the  '  Murderers,'  as  the  extracts  from  Don 
Juan  and  Cohhett  are  so  very  long.  The  extracts  in  your  article 
will  make  eight  or  nine  pages.  They  are  not  set  up,  but  I  have  got 
them  all  correctly  copied  out,  and  I  return  you  the  l)ook.  I  am 
not  very  sure,  however,  if  these  horrid  details  are  the  kind  of  read- 
ing that  the  general  readers  of 'Maga'  would  like  to  have.  Curious 
and  singular  they  certainly  are ;  but  then  the  number  lies  on  the 
drawing-room  table,  and  goes  into  the  hands  of  females  and  young 
people,  who  might  be  shocked  by  such  terrible  atrocities,  but  you 
will  judge  of  this  yourself  f  Before  I  received  Mr.  L.'s  MS,,  I  had 
also  made  up  a  very  singular  story  of  a  suicide,  which  I  received 
from  London,  from  a  person  who  merely  signs  himself  'Titus.' 
O'Doherty's  note  is  by  Mr.  L.  I  also  wished  him  to  try  to  make 
some  little  alterations  in  the  article,  and  pei'haps  add  a  C.  N.  note. 
He  had  not  time,  however,  to  do  either  the  one  or  the  other.  Write 
me  what  you  think  of  the  article,  as  I  fear  it  will  be  apt  to  startle 
weak  minds.  However,  there  is  so  much  talent  in  it,  that  I  think 
it  Avill  be  liked,  but  not  having  more  I  delayed  it.  '  London  Oddi- 
ties' is  by  Mr.  Croly.  '  Timothy,  No.  IX.'  by  Dr.  Maginn.  '  No.  X.' 
by  Mr.  L.  'Andrew  Ardent,'  by  Stark,  and  the  Answer  by  Mr. 
C.  Never  was  any  thing  better  than  your  '  General  Question,' 
though  there  are  some  strong  things  in  it,  which  you  had  written 
in  a  real  savage  humor,  and  which  will  make  certain  good  folks 
stare.  The  'Director-General'  and  the  'Prize  Dissertation'  are 
capital  bits.  '  Heaven  and  Hell'  no  one  could  have  done  but  your- 
self.    After  getting  all  these  made  up,  I  found  I  had  got  ten  pages 

*  These  good  ailviros  were  not  lost  on  the  writer, 
t  The  "MuniiTiTs""  (ii<i  not  appi-iu-. 


LITEKABY    AND    DOMESTIC    LIFK.  267 

beyond  my  quantity;  and  as  I  could  not  leave  out  the  small  letter 
this  month,  I  had  no  room  for  your  articles  on  'Tennant'  and  'Mar- 
tin.' I  enclose  the  slips  of 'Tennant,'  but  I  have  not  got  'Martin' 
set  up  yet.  When  you  noticed  Gait's  '  Ringan  Gilhaize,'  you  would 
recollect,  I  dare  nay,  Doubleday's  'Tragedy.'  I  wish  much  you 
could  give  half  an  hour  to  it,  which  would  suffice.  He  has  not  said 
much  ;  but  in  two  or  three  of  his  letters  he  has  inquired,  in  his 
quiet  way,  if  we  were  not  going  to  have  some  notice  of  his  Tragedy 
in  'Maga.'  As  you  probably  have  not  a  copy  with  you,  I  enclose 
one,  in  case  you  should  be  tempted  to  take  it  up.  By  the  by,  the 
Old  Driveller  is  actually  doing  an  article  on  '  Ringan  Gilhaize.'  I 
have  seen  him  several  times  lately,  and  a  few  days  ago,  when  he 
stopped  half  an  hour  in  his  carriage  at  the  door,  he  told  me  he 
would  give  me  his  remarks  on  it  very  soon.  I  am  truly  thankful 
he  has  not  thought  of  laying  his  i)luckless  paws  on  'Reginald  Dal- 
ton.'  There  really  ought  to  be  a  splendid  article  on  Reginald.  I 
shall  be  very  anxious  till  I  hear  from  you,  how  you  like  tliis  number. 

«  W.  Blackwood." 

"Edinburgh,  October  18,  1823. 

"My  dear  Sik  : — This  has  been  a  busy  and  a  happy  week  with 
me.  Every  night  almost  have  I  been  receiving  packets  from  you, 
and  yesterday's  post  brought  me  the  Manifesto,  which,  you  will  see, 
closes  so  gloriously  this  glorious  number. 

"  It  is  indeed  a  number  worthy  of  the  ever-memorable  month  of 
October.  Though  I  have  given  twelve  pages  extra,  besides  keeping 
out  the  lists,  I  am  obliged  to  keep  '  Wrestliana'  for  next  month. 

"I  have  been  terribly  hurried  to  get  all  to  press,  but  I  hope  you 
will  find  your  articles  pretty  correct.    I  took  every  pains  I  could. 

"  I  hope  you  will  write  me  so  soon  as  you  have  run  through  the 
number,  and  tell  me  how  you  like  it.  There  is  so  much  of  your  own 
that  your  task  will  be  the  easier.  'Tennant'  is  a  delightful  article, 
and  will  make  the  little  man  a  foot  higher.  Hogg  is  beyond  all 
praise,  and  he  will  be  a  most  unreasonable  porker  if  he  attempt  to 
raise  his  bristles  in  any  manner  of  way.  I  prefixed  'See  I^octes 
Ainhrosiancp^^  and  wrote  Mr.  L.  to  insert  a  few  words  more  in  the 
jVo'.-tes  with  regard  to  it.  He  did  not,  however,  think  this  neces- 
sary. Every  one  will  be  in  raptures  with  '  Isaac  Walton ;'  and  the 
JVocf^'s  is   buoyant,  brilliant,  and  capital  from  beginning  to   end. 


268  ilEMOIR    OF    JOHN    WILSON. 

Well  might  }o\.\  say  that  the  'Manifesto'*  was  very  good.  I  shall 
weary  till  I  have  a  letter  from  you  telling  me  all  about  the  number, 
and  when  you  think  you  will  be  here. 

"  I  enclose  you  a  copy  of  a  letter  I  had  from  Mr.  Blair  a  few  days 
ago,  with  two  articles.  The  one  on  Language  seems  very  curious, 
but  it  is  so  interlined  and  corrected,  that  I  must  send  him  a  proof 
of  it,  and  desire  him  to  send  me  the  conclusion,  as  it  would  be  a 
pity  to  di\ide  it.  The  other  article  is  an  account  of  Raymond  LuUi. 
It  is  in  his  sister's  handwriting,  and  is  very  amusing,  but  there  was 
not  room  for  it,  and  it  will  answer  equally  well  next  month. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  on  the  face  of  the  earth  to  do  with  the  Old 
Driveller's  critique  on  '  Ringan  GUhaize.'  Whenever  I  hear  a  car 
riage  stop,  I  am  in  perfect  horrors,  for  I  do  not  know  what  to  say 
to  him.  I  sent  the  MS.  to  Mr.  L.,  but  he  returned  it  to  me,  and 
told  me  I  ought  to  print  it  as  it  is,  as  it  would  please  both  author 
and  critic. 

"  I  send  it  to  you  in  perfect  despair,  and  I  would  most  anxiously 
entreat  of  you  to  read  it,  and  ad^'ise  me  what  I  should  do.  It  is  as 
wretched  a  piece  of  drivelling  as  ever  I  read,  and  I  am  sure  it  would 
neither  gratify  Gait  nor  any  one  else,  while  it  would  most  certainly 
injure  the  Magazine.  If  you  cannot  be  plagued  with  doing  any  thing 
to  it,  you  will  at  all  events  return  it  carefully  to  me  by  coach  as 
soon  as  possible. 

"  I  have  at  last  settled  with  Hookf  for  Percy  Mallory.  I  hope 
it  will  do,  though  it  contains  not  a  little  Balaam.  There  are  many 
inquiries  about  the  '  Foresters.'  I  hope  you  are  going  on.  It  as- 
tonishes even  me,  what  you  have  done  for  '  Maga'  this  last  week, 
and  if  you  are  fairly  begun  to  the  '  Foresters,'  Stark  will  soon  be 
driving  on  with  it. 

"  I  enclose  slips  of  Mr.  St.  Barbe's  article,  and  an  amusing  one 
by  Titus.  With  these  and  Stark's  article,  besides  several  others,  I 
have  a  great  deal  already  for  next  number.  I  am,  my  dear  sir, 
yours  very  truly,  W.  Blackwood." 

We  come  now  to  the  spring  of  1824.     In  the  merry  month  of 

♦  A  short  article,  chiefly  addressed  to  Charles  Lamb,  on  his  exaggerated  displeasure  at  a  criti 
cal  observation  by  Southoy. 

t  Percy  Mallory.  3  vols..  ]2mo.,  published  in  December,  1S23.  It  was  written  by  Dr.  James 
Hook.  Dean  of  Wi>rce.-.ter,  brother  of  Theodore  Hook.  He  was  also  author  of  P&n  Ou>en,<tc 
Born  1T78,  died  l523. 


LITERAET    AND    DOMESTIC    LIFE.  269 

May  the  usual  happy  party  filling  "His  Majesty's  Royal  Mail"  set 
out  for  the  Lakes.  Travelling  in  those  days  was  a  matter  of  more 
serious  consideration  than  now.  The  journey  to  Westmoreland 
was  taken  as  ftir  as  Carlisle  per  coach  ;  the  remaining  distance  was 
posted.  The  arrival  at  Elleray  generally  took  place  between  eight 
and  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening,  long  after  sunlight  had  left  the 
skies.  A  number  of  trivial  associations  are  remembered  in  connec- 
tion with  the  approach  to  this  beloved  place.  The  opening  of  the 
avenue-gate  was  a  sound  never  to  be  forgotten.  The  sudden  swing 
of  the  carriage  at  a  particular  part  of  the  drive,  when  it  came  in 
contact  with  the  low-lying  branches  of  trees  (seldom  pruned),  drip- 
ping with  a  new  fallen  shower  of  rain,  would  send  a  whole  torrent 
of  drops  upon  the  expectant  faces  that  were  peeping  out  to  catch 
a  first  glimpse  of  the  house,  which,  lighted  up,  stood  on  its  eleva- 
tion like  a  beacon  to  guide  travellers  in  the  dark. 

This  new  Elleray  was  as  much  indebted  to  natural  position  as 
was  the  old.  Trellised  all  over,  there  was  no  more  than  the  space 
for  windows  uncovered  by  honeysuckle  and  roses.  In  a  very  short 
time  it  became  as  great  a  favoiite  as  the  old  cottage ;  which,  had 
it  been  lost  siglit  of  altogether,  might  have  been  more  regretted. 
A  letter  from  Mr.  Blackwood  will  show  what  the  Professor  had  in 
contemplation  for  this  summer's  work. 

"  Edinburgh,  Gth  May,  1824. 

"  My  dear  Sir  : — I  had  so  much  to  do  yesterday  that  I  had  uot 
time  to  write  you ;  I  hope  you  got  all  safe  to  Elleray,  and  as  the 
weather  is  so  delightful,  I  expect  to  hear  in  a  day  or  two  from  you 
that  you  have  faii'ly  begun  to  the  '  Foresters,'*  and  are  driving  on 
it  and  every  thing  else  to  your  heart's  content.  That  you  may  see 
what  I  am  doing,  I  send  you  what  I  have  made  up,  and  the  slips  of 
a  long  article  by  Dr.  M'Neill,f  which  I  received  a  few  days  ago.  I 
am  not  sure  if  there  will  be  room  for  it  in  this  numbe'-,  bat  we  shall 
see.     It  is  curious  and  valuable. 

"  I  wish  very  much  you  would  write  a  humorous  article  upon 
that  thin-skinned  person  Tommy  Moore's  '  Captain  Kock.'  This  is 
the  way  the  book  shouhl  be  treated.  Wo  have  plenty  of  the  seri- 
ous materiel  in  Mr.  R.'s  article,  and  if  you  would  only  take  up  the 

*  I  )ni)  of  Wilson's  tnles.     It  was  not  [niblished  until  the  following  June,  1S25. 

t  I'li'-  Crofi'ssofs  brother-in-law,  no  .  Mr  .lobn  M'Neiil,  G.  C.  IJ. ;  at  that  time  in  Persia. 


270 


MEMOIR    OF    JOUX    AVILSOX. 


Captain  in  your  own  glorious  way,  poor  Tommy  would  be  fairly 
dished.  As  you  probably  have  not  the  two  last  numbers  of  '  Maga' 
with  you,  I  enclose  them  with  '  Captain  Rock.' 

"  I  have  not  heard  from  Dr.  Maginn  yet,  which  I  am  quite  an- 
noyed at.  He  proposed  himself  that  he  would  send  me  off  regu- 
larly every  Monday  a  packet  under  Croker's  cover. 

"  W.  Blackwood." 

The  next  letter  is  from  Lockhart,  and  is  of  varied  interest : — 

"  161  Regext  Street,  Monday,  1824. 
"Dear  Professor : — Many  thanks  for  your  welcome  epistle, 
which,  on  returning  from  Bristol  yesterday,  I  found  here  with 
'  Maga,'  and  a  note  of  Blackwood's.  By  the  way,  you  will  be  glad 
to  hear  I  found  poor  Christie  doing  well,  both  in  health  and  busi- 
ness. I  spent  three  very  pleasant  days  with  him.  I  have  seen  a 
host  of  lions,  among  others,  Hook,  Canning,  Rogers,  Croly,  Ma- 
ginn,  Captain  2»Iorris*  (not  the  Dr.),  Botherby,  Lady  Davy,  Lady 
C.  Lamb — ****  (I  copy  these  stars  from  a  page  in  Adam  Blair)^ 
Miss  Baillie,  old  Giftord,  Matthews,  Irving,  Allan  Cunmngham, 
Wilkie,  Colburn,  and  Coleridge.  The  last  well  worth  all  the  rest, 
and  500  more  such  into  the  bargain.  Ebony  should  merely  keep 
him  in  his  house  for  a  summer,  with  Johnny  Dowf  in  a  cupboard, 
and  he  would  drive  the  windmills  before  him.     I  am  to  dine  at  Mr. 

*  Charles  Morris,  once  the  idol  of  clubmen  in  L<indon,  was  born  in  1745.  and  died  on  .July  11, 
ISSS,  ninety-three  years  of  age !  Mr.  Lockhart" :;  parenthetical  reference  to  the  Doctor  is,  of  course, 
to  his  own  nom  de  plume  as  Dr.  Peter  Morris,  of  Pensharpe  Hall,  Aberyswith.  The  following 
allasion  to  the  •*  Captain"  is  taken  from  M.  Esquiros"  English  at  Home : — 

"Anion^  the  last  names  connected  with  the  Beef-steak  Clnb  figures  that  of  Captain  Morris. 
He  was  bom  in  1745,  bat  survived  most  of  the  merry  guests  whom  he  amused  by  his  gayety.  his 
rich  imagination,  and  his  poetical  follies.  He  was  the  snn  of  the  table,  and  composed  s<jme  of  the 
most  p<-)pular  English  ballads.  The  Xestor  of  song,  he  himself  compared  his  muse  to  the  flying- 
flsh.  At  the  present  day  his  Bacchic  strains  require  the  clinking  of  glass,  and  the  joyous  echoes 
of  the  Clnb,  of  which  Captain  Morris  was  poet-laureate.  Type  of  the  true  Londoner,  he  pre- 
ferred town  to  country,  and  the  shady  side  of  Pall  Mall  to  the  most  brilliant  sunshine  illumi- 
nating nature.  Toward  the  end  of  his  life,  however,  he  let  himself  be  gained  over  by  the  ch.arms 
of  the  rural  life  he  had  ridiculed,  and  retired  to  a  villa  at  Brockham  given  him  by  the  Duke  of 
Norfolk.  Before  starting,  he  bade  farewell  to  the  Club  in  verse.  He  reappeared  there  .i*  a  visitor 
in  1S.35,  and  the  members  presented  hin\  with  a  large  silver  b"wl  bciring  an  ai>pnjpriate  inscrip- 
tion. Although  at  that  time  eighty-nino  years  of  age,  he  had  lost  none  of  his  gayety  of  heart. 
He  died  a  short  time  after,  and  with  liim  expired  the  glory  of  the  Club  of  which  he  had  been 
one  of  the  last  ornaments.  Only  the  name  has  sun"ived  of  this  celebrated  gathering  where  so 
much  wit  was  expended,  but  it  was  of  the  sort  which  evaporates  with  the  steam  of  dishes  and 
bowls  of  punch." 

t  An  Edinburgh  short-li;in..l  writer. 


LITERAKY    AKD    DOMESTIC    I.lFi;.  271 

Gillinan's  one  of  these  days.  Irving,*  you  may  depeml  upon  it,  is  a 
pure  humbug.  He  has  about  three  good  attitudes,  and  the  lower 
notes  of  his  voice  are  superb,  with  a  fine  manly  tremulation  that 
sets  Avomen  mad,  as  the  roar  of  a  noble  bull  does  a  held  of  kine ; 
but  beyond  tliis  he  is  nothing,  really  nothuig.  He  has  no  sort  of 
real  earnestness,  feeble,  pumped  up,  boisterous,  overlaid  stuif  is  his 

staple ;  he  is  no  more  a  Chalmers  than f  is  a  Jeffrey.    I  shall  do 

an  article  that  will  finish  him  by  and  by.  *  *  *  Neither  Maginn  nor 
any  one  else  lias  spoken  to  me  about  the  concerns  and  prosi)ects  of 
our  friend.  My  belief  is,  that  he  has  come  over  by  Croker's  advice  to 
assist  Theodore  in  jBull,l  and  to  do  all  sorts  of  by  jobs.  I  also  be- 
lieve that  Croker  thinks  he  himself  will  have  a  place  in  the  cabinet 
in  case  of  the  Duke  of  York's  being  King,  and  of  course  M.  looks 
forward  to  being  snugly  set  somewhere  in  that  event.  It  is  obvi- 
ous that  Hook,  Maginn,  and  all  tliis  set  hate  Canning ;  and  indeed 
a  powerful  party  of  high  ton  (Duke  of  York  at  head  thereof) 
is  forming  itself  against  his  over-conciliation  system.  I  am  not 
able  to  judge  well,  but  I  still  believe  that  Canning  is  the  man  no 
Tory  Ministry  can  do  without;  moreover,  that  the  Marquis  of 
Hertford  (the  great  man  with  Croker's  party,  and  the  destined 
Premier  of  Frederick  I.)  has  not  a  character  to  satisfy  the  country 
gentlemen  of  England.  I  met  Canning  at  dinner  one  day  at  Mr. 
Charles  Ellis's ;  the  Secretary  asked  very  kmdly  after  you,  and 
mentioned  that 'he  had  had  the  pleasure  of  making  acquaintance 
with  Mr.  Blackwood,  a  very  inteUigent  man  indeed.'  I  am  to  dine 
with  him  on  Saturday,  when  I  shall  see  more  of  him.  He  was  ob- 
viously in  a  state  of  exhausted  spirits  (and  strength  indeed)  when 
I  met  him.  Rogers  told  me  he  knew  that  Jeffrey  was  mortally  an- 
noyed with  Ilazlitt's  article  on  the  periodicals  being  in  the  iJdtn- 
hurgh  JRevieto,  and  that  it  was  put  there  by  Thomas  Thomson  and 
John  A.  Murray,§  who  were  co-editors,  while  'the  king  of  men' 


*  Kihvard  Irvin<r,  the  celebrated  preacher,  was  at  this  time  sailing  onwards  on  the  full  tide  of 
popularity.  Mrs.  Oliphant,  in  her  recent  biography,  writes  thus  regardinsj  his  famous  sermon 
preached  di  ring  this  year  to  the  London  Missionary  Society  :  "There  am  be  littU-  doubt  tliat  it 
Was  foolishness  to  nio.sl  of  his  hearers,  and  that  after  the  fascination  of  his  eloquence  was  over, 
riuetenths  of  them  would  recollect,  with  utter  wonder,  or  even  with  possible  contempt,  that 
wildest  visionary  conception." 

t  A  wtilj-liuown  Whig  lawyer. 

t  The  John  Bull  iiews|)afier,  edited  by  Theodore  Hook. 

§  Al'terwtti-da  Lord  Murniy. 


2T2  MKMOIK    OF    JOHN'    WILSON. 

was  ill  Switzerland.*  Wordsworth  is  in  town  at  present,  but  con- 
fined witli  liis  eyes.  I  thought  it  might  aj>pear  obtrusive  if  I  called, 
and  have  stayed  away.  John  Murray  seems  the  old  man  ;  the 
Quart' rly  alone  sustains  him.  Maginn  says  he  makes  £4,000  per 
annum  of  it,  after  all  expenses,  and  as  they  really  sell  14,000,  I  can 
easily  credit  it.  Colburn  is  making  a  great  fortune  by  his  Library 
and  altogether,  I  meet  no  one  who  ever  mentions  his  magazine  but 
to  laugh  at  it.  The  Xo.  of  Ebony  is  fair,  but  not  first-rate.  Your 
talk  of  Murders  is  exquisite,  but  otherwise  the  Nodes  too  local  by 
far.  Mnginu  on  Ritter  Bann  not  so  good  as  might  be.  The  article 
on  Matthews  (I  don't  know  whose)  is  just,  and  excellent  criticism. 
This  wedding  of  James's  came  on  me  rather  suddenly.  Perhaps 
you  will  be  delayed  in  Auld  Reekie  for  the  sake  of  witnessing  that 
day's  celebration.  My  own  motions  are  still  unfixed,  but  I  suspect 
I  shall  linger  here  too  long  to  think  of  a  land  journey  or  the  lakes. 
More  likely  to  make  a  run  in  September,  and  see  you  in  your  glory. 
De  Qiiincey  is  not  here,  but  expected.  Yotars, 

"J.  G.  L. 
"  I  don't  hear  any  thing  of  Mattheio  Wald  here,  but  I  would  fain 
hope  it  may  be  doing  in  spite  of  that.  Ask  Blackwood  to  let  me 
hear  any  thing.  Can  I  do  any  thing  for  him  here  ?  I  am  picking 
up  materials  for  the  Baron  Lauerwinkel's  or  some  other  body's  let- 
ters to  his  kinsfolk,  3  vols,  post  8vo.  Pray  write  a  first-rate 
but  brief  puff  of  Matthew  for  next  nund^er  Blackxcood.,  or  if  not, 
say  so,  that  I  may  do  it  myself,  or  make  the  Doctor.f    I  shall  write 

B one  of  these  days  if  any  thing  occurs,  and  at  any  rate  he 

shall  have  a  letter  to  C.  N.  speedily,  from  Timothy,  on  the  Quar- 
terly or  Westminster  Reviews.     A  Nodes  from  me  positively." 

Passing  over  the  various  other  topics  touched  on  in  this  letter, 
how  strangely  do  these  words  about  "•Frederick  I."  now  sound 
upon  the  ear!  How  little  did  the  sagacious  foresight  of  politicians 
c.ilcu-ate  that  every  day  an  invisible  hand  was  preparing  the  crown 
for  a  little  child  of  five  years  of  age,  and  that  in  the  short  space  of 
eighteen  yi.ars,  no  fewer  than  five  heirs  of  the  royal  line  should 

*  From  Mr.  Innes's  Memoir  of  TTiomas  ThomHon.l  see  that  the  editorsliip  of  the  JStftnturj/A 
Reriiv)  was  Uft  in  his  hauds  more  than  once.  "Tliis  foremost  of  llecord  scholars,  the  learned 
li-sral  antiq'iarian.  and  constitutional  lawyer,"  died  in  1S52,  aged  cifrhty-fonr. 

t  Tlie  Tlifiory  </  Mutthew  Wal  ',  a  novel  by  Mr.  LockharL  It  was  reviewed  in  the  Maynum- 
bci-  of  lilai  l^wuod. 


LITKUARY    AXD    DUME&TIC    LIFE.  273 

pass  away,  leaving  a  clear  and  uninterrupted  passage  for  the  Prm- 
cess  Victoria  to  the  throne  of  these  realms  ! 
The  next  letter  is  equally  characteristic : — 

"Abbotsford,  Sunday,  2d  January,  1825. 

"  My  dear  Wilson  : — I  left  London  on  Wednesday  evening,  and 
arrived  here  in  safety  within  forty-six  hours  of  the  'Bull  and 
Mouth.' 

"  Our  friend  the  Bailie*  might  probably  show  you  a  letter  of  Dr. 
Stoddartf  aljout  getting  some  literary  articles  for  the  New  Times. 
I  saw  Old  Sloj),  and  introduced  Maginn  to  him.  What  the  Doctor 
and  he  might  afterwards  agree  about  I  can't  say,  but  I  do  hope 
there  may  be  a  permanent  connection  between  them,  as  among 
newspeople  there  is  no  doul)t  Stoddart  is  by  far  the  most  resj)ecta- 
ble  man,  and  there  is  every  reason  to  fear  M.'s  propensities  tending 
more  frequently  to  the  inferior  orders  of  the  Plume. 

"For  myself,  I  accepted  Dr.  Stoddart's  offer  of  his  newspa])er, 
to  be  repaid  by  a  few  occasional  paragraphs  throughout  the  year; 
and  upon  his  earnest  entreaty  for  some  introduction  to  you,  I  ven- 
tured to  say  that  I  thought  you  Avould  have  no  objection  to  receive 
the  Weio  Times  on  the  same  terms. 

"  Whether  he  has  at  once  acted  on  this  hint  I  know  not,  but 
thought  it  best  to  write  you  in  case. 

"After  all,  it  is  a  pleasant  thing  to  have  a  daily  paper  at  one's 
breakfast-table  all  the  year  through. 

"It  can  cost  us  little  trouble  to  re])ay  him  by  a  dozen  half  columns 
— half  of  these  maybe  pulf-;  of  ourselves,  by  the  way — and  Southey 
and  others  have  agreed  to  do  the  same  thing  on  the  same  terms.  So 
if  the  New  Times  comes,  and  you  don't  wish  it  upon  these  terms, 
pray  let  me  know  this,  that  I  may  advise  Slop. 

"  LoTidon  is  deserted  by  the  gentlefolks  in  the  Christmas  holidays, 
so  that  I  have  little  news.  T  placed  my  brother,  quite  to  my  satis- 
faction and  his,  at  Blackheath.  As  for  the  matter  personal  to  my- 
self, of  which  I  spoke  to  you,  I  can  only  say  that  I  left  it  in  Croker's 

♦  Mr,  Blackwood. 

+  Sir  John  Stoddart  (at  this  time  editor  of  TVie  New  Timet,  a  inornins  paper,  which  was  . 
started  about  1817,  and  continued  until  IS'iS)  was  born  in  IVTS.  ami  died  in  1S56.  Besides  hi» 
political  writings,  he  was  the  author  of  liemarks  on  Local  Scenery  and  if<innef!i  in  Kot/iind 
iu  IT'.tO  and  1800.  2  vols.  ISOl;  An  Ennaii  on  the  Philosophy  of  Lan/jmiije ;  and  some  trans- 
lations. In  the  political  caricatures  and  satires  of  that  day,  he  waa  continually  introduced  as 
'•Dr.  Slop." 


274  MEMOIR    OF   JOnX    WILSOX. 

hands ;  he  promising  to  exert  himself  to  tlie  utmost  whenever  the 
high  and  mighty  with  whom  the  decision  rests  sliould  come  back 
to  London.  I  think,  upon  the  wliole,  that  tliere  is  nothing  to  be 
gained  or  denied  except  Lord  Melville's  personal  voice ;  and  it  will 
certainly  be  very  odd  if,  every  thing  else  being  got  over,  he  in  this 
personal  and  direct  manner  shows  himself  not  indifferent,  but  pos- 
itively adverse.  I  entertain,  therefore,  considerable  hope,  and  if  I 
fail  shall  not  be  disappointed  certainly,  but  d — d  angry. 

''I  shall  be  in  Edinburgh,  I  think,  on  Thursday  evening,  when  I 
hope  to  find  you  and  yours  as  well  ha  health,  and  better  in  other 
respects,  than  when  I  left  you.  May  this  year  be  happier  than  the 
last !     Yours  always,  J.  G.  Lockhart." 

A  letter  from  Mr.  De  Quincey,  after  a  long  silence,  again  brings 
him  before  us,  as  graceful  and  interesting  as  ever,  though  also,  alas ! 
as  heavily  beset  with  his  inevitable  load  of  troubles.  His  letter  is 
simply  dated  "Loudon;''  for  obvious  reasons,  that  great  world  was 
a  safer  seclusion  than  even  the  Vale  of  Grasmere : — 

"LoxDOX,  Thursday,  Ftbruary  24,  1825. 
"  My  dear  Wilsox  : — I  write  to  you  on  the  following  occasion : — 
Some  time  ago,  perhaps  nearly  two  years  ago,  Mr.  Hill,  a  lawyer, 
published  a  book  on  Education,*  detailing  a  plan  on  which  his 
brothers  h.ad  estabUshed  a  school  at  Hazelwood,  in  Warwickshire. 
This  book  I  reviewed  in  the  London  Magazine,  and  in  consequence 
received  a  letter  of  thanks  from  the  author,  who,  on  my  coming  to 
London  about  midsummer  last  year,  called  on  me.  I  have  since 
become  intimate  with  him,  and  excepting  that  he  is  a  sad  Jacobin 
(as  I  am  obliged  to  tell  him  once  or  twice  a  month),  I  have  no  one 
fault  to  find  with  him,  for  he  is  a  very  clever,  amiable,  good  creature 
as  ever  existed ;  and  in  particular  directions  his  abilities  strike  me 
as  really  very  great  indeed.  Well,  Ms  book  has  just  been  reviewed 
in  the  last  Edinhurgh  Review  (of  which  some  copies  have  been  in 
town  about  a  Meek).  This  service  has  been  done  him,  I  suppose, 
through  some  of  his  political  friends  (for  he  is  connected  with 
Brougham,  Lord  Lansdowne,  old  Bentham,  etc.),  but  I  understand 
hy  Mr.  Jeffrey.     Now  Hill,  in   common  with  multitudes  in  this 

•  The  work  referred  to  here  is,  '•  Plans  for  the  GovernmeDt  and  Liberal  In^tmctioD  of  Boy»  in 
large  numbers,  drawn  from  Experience.'"    Svo.     London.     1633. 


LITERARY    AND    UOMKSTIC    LIFE.  ^iO 

Babylon — who  will  not  put  their  trust  in  BhickwooJ  as  in  God 
(which,  you  know,  lie  oucjht  to  do) — yet  privately  adores  him  as  the 
devil ;  and  indeed  publicly,  too,  is  a  great  proneur  of  Blackwood. 
For,  in  spite  of  his  Jacobinism,  he  is  liberal  and  inevitably  just  to 
real  wit.  His  fear  is,  that  Biaekwood  may  come  as  Nemesis,  and 
compel  him  to  regorge  any  2)uffing  and  cramming  which  Titl"  has 
put  into  his  pocket,  and  is  earnest  to  have  a  letter  addressed  in  an 
influential  quarter  to  prevent  this.  I  alleged  to  him  that  I  am  not 
quite  sure  but  it  is  an  afiront  to  a  Professor,  to  presume  that  he  has 
any  connection  as  contributor  or  any  thing  else,  to  any  work  which 
he  does  not  publicly  avow  as  his  organ  for  communicating  with  the 
"world  of  letters.  He  answers  that  it  would  be  so  in  him — but  that 
an  old  friend  may  write  sub  rosd.  I  rejoin  that  I  know  not  but 
you  may  have  cut  Blackwood — even  as  a  subscriber — a  whole  lus- 
trum ago.  He  rebuts — by  urging  a  just  compliment  paid  to  you  as 
a  supposed  contributor,  in  the  JVeios  of  Literature  and  Fashion^ 
but  a  moon  or  two  ago.  Seriously,  I  have  told  him  that  I  know 
not  what  was  the  extent  of  your  connection  with  Blackwood  at  any 
time;  and  that  I  conceive  the  labors  of  your  Chair  in  the  Univer- 
sity must  now  leave  you  little  leisure  for  any  but  occasional  contri- 
butions, and  therefore  for  no  regular  cognizance  of  the  Avork  as 
director,  etc.  However,  as  all  that  he  wishes — is  simply  an  inter- 
ference to  save  him  from  any  very  severe  article,  and  not  an  article 
in  his  favor,  I  have  ventured  to  ask  of  you  if  you  hear  of  any  such 
thing,  to  use  such  influence  as  must  naturally  belong  to  you  in  your 
general  character  (whether  maintaining  any  connection  with  Black- 
wood or  not),  lo  get  it  softened.  On  the  whole,  I  suppose  no  such 
article  is  likely  to  appear.  But  to  oblige  Hill  I  make  the  ajiplica- 
tion.  He  lias  no  direct  interest  in  the  prosperity  of  Hazelwood  :  he 
is  himself  a  barrister  in  considerable  practice,  and  of  some  standing, 
I  believe:  but  he  takes  a  strong  paternal  interest  in  it,  all  his 
brothers  (who  are  accomplished  young  men,  I  believe)  being  en- 
gaged in  it.  They  have  already  had  one  shock  to  stand  :  a  certain  3Ir. 
Place,  a  Jacobin  friend  of  the  school  till  just  now,  having  taken  pet 
with  it — and  removed  his  sons.  Now  this  Place,  who  was  formerly 
a  tailor — leather-breeches  maker — and  habit-maker — having  m  ide  a 
fortune  and  finished  his  studies — is  become  an  immense  authority 
as  a  ]iolitical  and  rcforniing  head  with  Bentham,  etc.,  as  also  with 
the  Westminster  Mevie'C,  in  which  quarter  he  is  supposed  to  have 


276  MEMOIR   OF  JOHN   WU.SON. 

the  weight  of  nine  times  nine  men ;  whence,  by  the  "vvay,  in  the 
'circles'  of  the  booksellers,  the  Review  has  got  the  name  of  the 
Breeches  Jieview. 

"  Thus  much  concerning  the  occasion  of  my  letter.  As  to  myself 
— though  I  have  written  not  as  one  who  labors  under  much  depres' 
sion  of  mind — the  fact  is,  I  do  so.  At  this  time  calamity  presses 
upon  me  with  a  heavy  hand : — I  am  quite  free  of  opium  :*  but  it 
has  left  the  liver,  which  is  the  Achilles'  heel  of  almost  every  human 
fabric,  subject  to  aflections  which  are  tremendous  for  the  weight  of 
wretchedness  attached  to  them.  To  fence  with  these  with  the  one 
hand,  and  with  the  other  to  maintain  tlie  war  with  the  wretched 
business  of  hack  autlior,  with  all  its  horrible  degradations — is  more 
than  I  am  able  to  bear.  At  this  moment  I  have  not  a  place  to  hide 
my  head  in.  Something  I  meditate — I  know  not  what — 'Itaque 
e  conspectu  omnium  abiit.'  With  a  good  publisher  and  leisure  to 
premeditate  what  I  write,  I  might  yet  liberate  myself:  after  which, 
having  paid  everybody,  I  would  slink  into  some  dark  corner — 
educate  my  children — and  show  my  face  in  the  world  no  more. 

"  If  you  should  ever  have  occasion  to  write  to  me,  it  will  be  best 
to  address  your  letter  either  '  to  the  care  of  Mrs.  De  Quincey,  Ry- 
dal  Xab,  Westmoreland'  (Fox  Ghyll  is  sold,  and  will  be  given  up 
in  a  few  days),  or  'to  the  care  of  M.  D.  Hill,  Esq.,  11  King's  Bench 
Walk,  Temple  :' — but  for  the  present,  I  think  rather  to  the  latter  : 
for  else  suspicions  will  arise  that  I  am  in  Westmoreland,  which,  if  I 
were  not,  might  be  serviceable  to  me ;  but  if,  as  I  am  in  hopes  of 
accomplishing  sooner  or  later,  I  should  be — might  defeat  my  pur- 
pose. 

"  I  beg  my  kind  regards  to  Mrs.  Wilson  and  my  yoimg  friends, 
whom  I  remember  witli  so  much  interest  as  I  last  saw  them  at  El 
leray, — and  am,  my  dear  Wilson,  veiy  aflectionately  yours, 

''Thomas  De  Quincey." 

In  the  following  letter  from  my  father  to  his  friend,  ]\Ir.  Findlay, 
of  Easter  Hill,  he  refers  to  the  death  of  his  venerable  mother,  whicL 
took  place  in  December,  1824.  The  accident  to  my  mother,  to 
which  allusion  is  made,  occurred  in  the  previous  summer ;  he  wai' 
driving  with  her  and  the  children  one  day  in  the  neighborhood  ot 
Ambleside,  when  the  axletree  gave  way,  and  the  carriage  was  ovw 

•  To  the  very  last  he  asserted  this,  but  the  habit,  although  modified,  was  never  abandoned. 


LITEKAKY    AND   DOMESTIC    LIFE. 


277 


turned  while  ascending  a  steep  hill.  No  very  bad  consequences  to 
any  of  the  party  ensued  at  the  time.  Mrs.  Wilson,  however,  felt 
the  shock  to  her  nervous  system,  which  affected  her  health  so  as  to 
cause  her  husband  much  anxiety. 

"29  Ann  Street,  March  2,  1825. 

"  My  dearest  Rouekt  : — Much  did  I  regret  not  being  at  home 
when  you  called  upon  us  lately.  Both  Mrs.  Wilson  and  myself  felt 
sincerely  for  your  wife  and  yourself  on  your  late  affliction.  I  had 
heard  from  Miss  Sym  that  there  were  few  hopes,  but  also  that  the 
poor  soul  was  comfortable  and  happy,  and  now  no  doubt  she  is  in 
heaven. 

"  I  am  sure  that  you  too  would  feel  for  all  of  us  when  you  heard 
of  my  mother's  death  ;  she  was,  you  know,  one  of  the  best  of 
women,  and  although  old,  seventy-two,  yet  in  all  things  so  young 
that  we  never  feared  to  lose  her  till  within  a  few  days  of  her  de- 
parture ;  she  led  a  haj)py  and  a  useful  life,  and  now  must  be  enjoy- 
ing her  reward.  I  have  suffered  great  anxiety  about  Mrs.  Wilson  ; 
that  accident*  was  a  bad  one,  and  during  summer  she  was  most 
alarmingly  ill.  She  is  still  very  weak,  and  her  constitution  has  got 
a  shake,  but  I  trust  in  God  it  is  not  such  as  may  not  be  got  over, 
and  that  the  summer  will  restore  her  to  her  former  health.     She 

*  The  following  letter  from  Principal  Baird  alludes  to  the  same  accident: — 

"  University  CiiAMiiERa,  July  23(7,  1S24. 

"My  dear  Sin: — In  the  0rst  place,  to  begin  methodically,  I  beg  to  congratulate  you  on  the 
hair-brea<lth  escape  which  the  newspapers  tohl  us  you  so  happily  made  when  your  horse  was 
restive  and  your  gig  on  the  brink  of  a  precipice;  and,  in  the  second  place,  I  beg  to  remind  you 
that  the  best  expression  of  your  gratitude  for  the  deliverance,  will  be  to — to  compose  some  para- 
phrases anil  translations  lor  the  use  of  the  Church.  I  shall  be  glad  to  learn,  and  to  see  proof 
that  you  are  thus  employed. 

"  I  have  got  several  excellent  pieces  from  Mrs.  Ilemans  and  Mrs.  Grant,  of  Laggan,  lately,  in 
addition  to  those  which  I  had  formerly  from  .Miss  Joanna  Baillie,  &c. 

"I  am  at  iiresent  busy  in  the  transmission  of  papers  through  the  Church  in  respect  to  the  Gen- 
eral Assembly's  plan  for  increasing  the  means  of  education,  of  leligious  instruction  chiefly,  ir. 
the  Highlands  and  Islands.  In  three  contiguous  i)arishes  there  is  a  population  of  about  20,11(10, 
and  above  1S,<1I)0  of  these  poor  people  have  never  been  taught  to  read.  In  another  district  about 
47,u00  out  of  50,000  have  not  been  ta\iglit.     Ought  these  things  so  to  be  1 

"  I  am  particularly  interested  in  the  state  of  lona.  Ill  su|>plied  with  a  single  school,  it  has  no 
place  of  worsliip.  The  minister  is  bound  to  pieach  to  them  only  four  times  in  the  year.  Ho 
preaches  on  a  hill-side,  ami  from  that  neighboring  coast  of  the  mainland;  he  has  an  audience  on 
tliat  hill-side  of  never  less  tliiui  1,000  persons.  This  is  the  state  of  lona,  from  which  cjwiie  at  a 
reMu>te  (lay  to  our  mainJand  the  light  of  literature  and  religion.  I  wish  you  would  write  a  pe- 
tition by  lona  for  consideration  and  help.  St.  Kildas  privations  have  been  supplied  by  iiublin 
symp.ithy  and  bounty.  Let  us  not  neglect  lona,  amid  the  'ruins  of  which  whose  plaids  would 
not  grow  warmer  f 

"  I  am,  with  great  regard,  yours  most  faithfully, 

"Gkokge  Baib©." 


278  MEMOIR    OF   JOHN    AVII.SON. 

looks  well,  but  is  not  so,  and  many  a  Avretched  and  sleepless  hour 
do  I  pass  on  her  account. 

"  It  is  so  long  since  the  meeting  of  the  good  old  Professor's* 
friends,  that  I  need  now  say  no  more  than  that  all  the  arrangements 
met  with  my  most  complete  approbation,  that  I  rend  the  account 
with  peculiar  pleasure,  and  especi;dly  your  speech  and  Dr.  Macgill's. 
Whatever  was  in  your  hands  could  not  be  otherwise  than  proper 

and  right.     I  have  been  much  worried  Avith  my  own  affairs, 

having  entangled  me  in  much  mischief,  even  after  he  bad  ruined 
me,  but  I  am  perfectly  reconciled  to  such  things,  and  while  my  wife 
and  family  are  Avell  and  happy,  so  will  I  be.  Could  I  see  Jane  per- 
fectly restored,  I  should  dismiss  all  other  anxieties  from  my  mind 
entirely. 

"  I  should  like  much  indeed  to  see  you  at  Easter  Hill  for  a  day  or 
two  ;  my  plans  are  yet  all  unfixed.  Perhaps  I  may  take  a  walk  as 
far  early  in  May. 

"I  am  building  a  house  in  Gloucester  Place,  a  small  street  lead- 
ing from  the  Circais  into  Lord  ^^loray's  grounds.  Tiiis  I  am  doing 
because  I  am  poor,  and  money  yielding  no  interest.  If  Jane  is  bet- 
ter next  winter,  I  intend  to  carry  my  plan  into  effect  of  taking  into 
my  house  two  or  three  young  gentlemen.  ^lention  this  in  any 
quarter.  Rememl)er  me  kindly  to  your  excellent  wife.  Your 
family  is  now  most  anti-Malthusian.  Believe  me  ever,  my  dearest 
llobert,  your  most  affectionate  friend,  Joiix  Wilsox." 

The  house  in  Gloucester  Place  was  completed  and  ready  for  habi- 
tation in  1826,  and  thenceforth  was  his  home  during  the  reniair.der 
of  his  hfe.  The  plan  of  receiving  young  gentlemen  into  his  house 
was  never  put  into  execution. 

About  this  time  a  proposal  was  made  that  a  separate  Chair  of 
Political  Economy  should  be  instituted  in  the  University  of  Edin- 
burgh, and  that  the  appointment  should  be  conferred  upon  3Ir.  J. 
R.  M'Culloch,  then  editor  of  the  Scotsman  newspaper.  Wilson's 
professorship  coinbined  the  two  subjects  of  Moral  Philosophy  and 
Political  Economy,  but  up  to  this  period  he  had  not  lectured  on 
the  latter  topic :  he  therefore  resented  the  movement  as  an  inter- 
ference with  his  vested  rights,  and  by  appealing  to  Government 
Bucceeded  in  crushing  the  project.     After  this  controversy  (which 

*  Professor  Jardine. 


LITERARY    AND    DOMESTIC    LITE.  2711 

included  a  sharp  jjamjihlet,  in  which  the  Professor,  under  the  noiu 
de  plume  of  Mordecai  Mullion,  dealt  somewhat  freely  with  Mr. 
M'CuUoch),  he  lectured  on  political  economy.  Two  years  later,  we 
find  that  he  was  an  advocate  of  free  trade,  as  may  be  seen  from  his 
letter  to  Dr.  Moir  in  the  next  chapter.  Could  his  new  studies — 
consequent  upon  complying  with  his  friend  Patrick  Robertson's 
advice"  to  prepare  a  course  of  lectures  on  political  economy — have 
led  to  this  result  ?  It  is  more  than  probable  that  De  Quincey  may 
also  have  influenced  his  opinions  on  this  head. 

The  following  letters,  from  Mr.  Patrick  Robertson,  Mr.  Huskis- 
son,  Mr.  Canning,  and  Mr.  Peel,  will  show  the  interest  taken  by 
Wilson's  personal  and  political  friends  as  to  the  projjosed  Cliair  : — 

"Edinburgh,  Tuesday,  lUhJune,  1825. 

"  Mt  DEAR  Wilson: — I  have  your  last.  Lockhart  and  Hope 
concur  with  me  in  thinking  that  the  idea  of  a  petition  is  out  of  the 
question.  It  would  not  do  to  enter  the  field  in  this  way,  unless 
victory  were  ])erilled  on  the  success;  and  what  will  be  the  lethargy 
of  our  leading  Tories  and  the  activity  of  the  Whigs?  I  should 
fear  the  result  of  a  contest  in  this  form.  You  seem  to  me  to  have 
made  every  possible  exertion  ;  and  there  is  only  one  thing  more  I 
must  urge  upon  you,  a  positive  pledge  to  lecture  on  this  subject 
next  winter.  You  are  quite  adequate  to  the  task,  and  this  wiih(jut 
leaving  EUeray.  Books  can  easily  be  sent ;  and  if  you  don't  know 
about  corn  and  raw  produce,  and  bullion  and  foreign  supplies,  so  as 
to  be  ready  to  write  in  December,  you  are  not  the  man  who  went 
through  the  more  formidable  task  of  your  first  course.  A  pledge 
of  this  kind  would  be  useful,  and  when  redeemed  (if  the  storm 
were  now  over),  would  be  a  complete  bar  against  future  invasions 
of  your  rights.  Think  of  this,  or  rather  determine  to  do  this  with- 
out thinking  of  it,  and  it  is  done. 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  should  leave  your  charming  cottnge  to 
come  down  here  at  present,  nor  how  you  can  be  of  any  further  ser- 
vice tlian  you  have  been.  It  is  strange  there  is  no  answer  from  the 
Big  Wigs.  Lord  Melville  writes  nobody,  and  I  fancy  William 
Dundas  has  his  hands  full  enough  of  his  city  canvass  since  that  i.i- 

sane  ass, ,  started.     I  am  in  hopes  you  will  hear  soon,     lioth 

Hope  and  Robert  Dundas  are  anxious  to  do  all  in  their  power,  and 
expect  this  plot  will  be  detl-ated  ;  but  I  see  no  way  of  pieventing 


280     ■  MEMOIR   OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

it  ultimately,  except  your  actual  lectures  on  the  subject.  None  of 
us  will  come  up  this  year,  that  you  may  have  time  to  study,  so 
study  you  must;  and  don't  you  understand  the  old  principle  upon 
which  the  whole  of  this  nonsensical  science  hangs  ?  I  assure  you, 
without  jest,  we  all  deeply  IVel  the  insult  thus  offered  to  you  and 
the  party,  and  I  cannot  believe  it  will  ever  be  carried  through.  My 
hope  is  in  Peel  more  than  all  the  rest.  Oh,  for  one  dash  of  poor 
Londonderry !     Ever  yours  faithfully,  Pat.  Robertson." 

"Board  of  Trade,  l^ih  June,  1825. 

"  Sir  : — I  have  had  the  honor  to  receive  your  letter  of  the  8th 
instant,  stating  the  grounds  on  which  you  conceive  that  the  erec- 
tion of  a  new  professorship  in  the  University  of  Edinburgh,  for  the 
purpose  of  lecturing  on  Political  Economy,  would  be  an  unfair  in- 
terference with  the  rights,  and  consequent  duties,  which  belong  to 
the  Chair  of  Moral  Philosophy. 

"  Without  feeling  it  necessary  to  go  into  the  question  how  far 
the  mode  of  lecturing  on  political  economy  which  has  hitherto  pre- 
vailed in  the  University  of  Edinburgh  is  the  most  desirable,  and 
exactly  that  in  which  I  should  concur,  if  the  whole  distribution  of 
instruction  in  that  University  were  to  be  recast,  I  have  no  dithculty 
in  stating  that  every  attention  ought  to  be  paid,  in  looking  at  the 
present  application,  to  the  circumstances  and  consideration  which 
you  have  stated. 

"  The  state  of  this  case,  as  far  as  I  know,  is  this  : — An  applica- 
tion has  been  made  by  memorial,  from  certain  individuals,  to  the 
Government,  for  the  sanction  of  the  Crown  to  establish  a  profes- 
sorship of  Political  Economy  in  the  University,  the  subscribers 
offering  to  provide  a  permanent  fund  for  founding  the  new  Chair, 
in  like  manner  as  has  been  done  by  a  private  gentleman  (Mr.  Drum- 
mond)  in  the  University  of  Oxford. 

"This  memorial  has  been  referred  by  Lord  Liverpool  to  the 
University  of  Edinburgh  for  their  opinion,  and  no  final  decision 
will  be  taken  by  the  Government  until  that  opinion  shall  be  re- 
ceived. Should  the  Senatus  Acailemicus  not  recommend  a  coni]li 
auce  with  the  prayer  of  the  Memorial,  I  have  every  reason  to  be 
lieve  that  it  will  not  receive  the  sanction  of  Government,  and  I 
have  conveyed  that  impression  to  the  person  who  had  put  the  me- 
morial into  my  hands. 


LITEKAKY    AND    DOMliS'ilC    LIFE. 


281 


"  I  must  therefore  refer  you,  as  one  of  that  Senutus  Academicus, 
to  your  colleagues,  who  will,  I  have  no  doubt,  give  that  opinion 
which  shall  appear  to  them  most  conducive  to  the  furtherance  of 
the  important  duties  of  the  University,  without  prejudice  to  the 
individual  right  of  any  member  of  that  learned  body.  I  have  the 
honor  to  be,  sir,  your  most  obedient  servant, 

"W.    IIUSKISSON." 

FROM  MR.  CANNING. 

"Foreign  Office,  June  21,  1825. 
"  Dear  Sir  : — The  alarm  under  which  your  letter  of  the  8th  was 
written,  has,  I  think,  subsided  long  ago,  in  consequence  of  the  an- 
swers which  your  representations  received  from  other  quarters.  I 
only  write  lest  you  should  think  that  I  had  neglected  your  letter, 
or  felt  no  interest  in  your  concerns.  I  am,  dear  sir,  your  obedient 
and  faithful  servant,  Geo.  CAKNmG. 

"Mr.  Professor  Wilson." 

FROM  SIR  ROBERT  PEEL. 
[Private.']    '  "  Wuitehall,  June  21,  1825. 

"Sir: — The  project  of  establishing  a  new  and  separate  Pi'ofes- 
sorship  of  Political  Economy  in  the  University  of  Edinburgh  did 
not  receive  any  encouragement  from  me.  I  understand  that  it  is 
altogether  abandoned  ;  and  I  have  only,  therefore,  to  assure  you, 
that  before  I  would  have  given  my  assent  to  it  under  any  circum- 
stances, I  should  have  considered  it  my  duty  to  ascertain  that  the 
institution  of  a  new  Chair  Avas  absolutely  necessary  for  the  ])ur- 
poses  for  which  it  professed  to  be  instituted,  and  that  the  just  privi- 
leges of  other  professors  were  not  attected  by  it.  I  have  the  honor 
to  be,  sir,  your  obedient  servant,  Robert  Peel. 

"Professor  Wilson,  etc.,  etc.,  Edinburgh." 

lie  did  not  "leave  his  charming  cottage,"  but  very  soon  found 
more  interesting  work  than  political  economy  to  occupy  his  thoughts. 
Mr.  Blackwood  soon  after  writes  of  his  "  going  on  with  another 
volume,"  and  also  says,  "  I  rejoice,  too,  tliat  you  are  preparing  your 
Outlines."*  Of  the  "other  volume"  nothing  more  was  heard. 
Some  small  portion  of  its  intended  contents    was   probably  con- 

*  In  December,  1825, 1  find  advertised  ns  "speedily  to  be  published,  in  one  vol.,  Svo.,  Proxpectiti 
of  »  Course  of  Moral  Inquiry,  by  John  Wilson,  Professor  of  Moial  Thilosophy  iu  the  LJulvur- 
Blly  of  Edlnbuigb  ;"  this  book,  however,  never  uppeiued. 

V2 


282  MElklOIR   OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

tribnted  to  a  work  presently  to  be  spoken  of;  but  from  the  letters 
in  reference  to  that  subject,  it  may  be  conjectured  that  some  tales 
were  written  by  him,  which,  if  they  ever  appeared  in  print,  are  not 
hitherto  identified  with  his  name.  Besides  the  three  tales  which 
had  alreaily  been  pul^lished,  Lights  and  iShadoics,  Margaret  Lynd- 
sat/,  and  The  Fureaters,  and  two  volumes  of  poems,  no  separate 
works  of  his  appeared  until  l\iQ  Mecr eat lo7is  of  Christopher  Nortli, 
in  1843.  That  he  did  not  carry  out  his  intention  of  preparing  his 
Outhnes  is  cause  of  regret. 

The  next  letter  from  Mr.  Lockhart  contains  some  reference  to  a 
literary  project,  of  which  the  first  idea  appears  to  have  originated 
with  him.  Tiie  name  of  Janus  will  doubtless  be  entirely  new  to 
the  readers  of  this  generation,  and  there  are  not  many  now  living 
who  are  aware  of  the  fact  that  the  volume  published  under  that 
name,  in  November,  1825,  was  chiefly  the  composition  of  Wilson 
and  Lockhart.  The  fact  that  the  publication  was  intrusted  to  any 
other  hands  than  those  of  Mr.  Blackwood  I  can  only  attribute  to 
the  fict — apparent,  from  some  allusions  in  Mr.  Lockhart's  letters — 
that  he  had  by  this  time  become  rather  impatient  of  Mr.  Black- 
wood's independent  style  of  treating  his  contributions.  But  for 
him  the  book  would  never  have  appeared,  and  as  certainly  my 
father  would  never  have  contributed.  The  })lan  was  suggested  ap- 
paiently  by  the  popularity  of  a  class  of  books  that  began  to  appear 
in  London  in  the  preceding  year,  under  the  title  of  Annuals,  such 
as  the  Forget  Me  Not,  the  Amtdet,  and  Friendshii^ s  Offering. 
They  were  adorned  with  engravings,  and  contained  contributions 
from  the  pens  of  distinguished  writers.  The  projectors  of  Janus 
thought  it  most  prudent  to  make  the  success  of  their  Annual  de- 
pend on  its  literary  merits  alone,  but  it  turned  out  that  they  "vvere 
mistaken.  Lockhart  and  Wilson  undertook  the  editorship,  md 
contributed  the  great  bulk  of  the  articles.*  The  following  is  a  let- 
ter from  Mr.  Lockhart  bearing  on  this  subject.  He  was  on  the  eve 
of  starting  for  Ireland  with  Sir  Walter  Scott : — 

"Edinburgh,  July  Sth — (Starting). 
"My  dear  Wilsox: — T  am  exceedingly  sorry  to  find  myself 

•  Several  letters  on  the  subject  liave  been  sent  me,  thrmish  the  kindness  of  John  Boyd,  Esq., 
of  the  firm  of  Oliver  &  Boyd,  the  publishers  of  Janus,  which  show  the  interest  and  zeal  with 
w;\icli  the  work  was  carried  through. 


i 


LITEKAKY    AND   DOMESTIC    LIFE.  283 

leaving  Edinburgh  without  having  seen  again  or  heard  from  you. 
I  have  no  time  to  write  at  length,  so  take  business  in  form. 

"  1st.  I  liave  seen  Dr.  Graliaiu  and  David  Ritchie  to-day.  They 
both  are  in  spirits  about  tlie  aft'air  of  the  P.  E.*  chair.  Peel  has  writ- 
ten to  the  Principal  most  favorably  for  you,  and  they  both  think 
the  matter  is  settled.  However,  it  is  still  possible  a  Senatus  Academ- 
icus  may  be  called,  in  which  case  you  will  of  course  come  down. 

2d.  I  have  seen  Boyd.  He  is  in  high  glee,  and  has  got  many 
subscriptions  already  for  Janus.  I  have  settled  that  I  shall,  on 
reaching  Chiefs  wood  by  the  12th  of  August,  be  in  condition  to 
keep  Janus  at  work  regularly,  and  therefore  you  must  let  me  have, 
then  and  there,  a  quantity  of  your  best  MS.  If  you  think  of  any 
engravings,  the  sooner  you  communicate  with  Boyd  as  to  that  mat- 
ter the  better,  as  he  will  send  to  London  for  designs,  and  grudge 
no  expense ;  but  this  is  a  thing  which  does  require  timely  notice. 

"I  confess  I  regard  all  that  as  a  very  secondary  concern.  l!i  the 
mean  time  I  have  plenty  of  things  ready  for  Janus  ',  and  the  mo- 
ment I  have  from  you  a  fine  poem  or  essay,  or  any  thing  to  begin 
with  (for  I  absolutely  demand  that  you  should  lead).,  I  am  ready  to 
see  the  work  go  to  press, 

"I  theref(M-e  expect,  when  I  reach  home,  to  find  there  lying  for 
me  a  copious  packet  from  Elleray. 

"  3c?.  Constable  is  about  to  publish  a  Popular  Encyclopaedia.,  in 
4  vols.  8vo,  and  he  has  been  able  to  get  Scott,  Jeffrey,  Macken- 
zie to  contribute.  The  articles  are  on  an  average  one  page  and  a 
half  each,  but  each  contributor,  having  undertaken  a  luimber  of  ar- 
ticles, is  at  liberty  to  divide  the  space  among  tiLem  as  he  pleases.  I 
have  undertaken  a  few  heraldic  and  biographical  things,  and  he  is 
very  anxious  that  you  should  do  the  same. 

"For  example,  Locke.,  Jlobbes.,  Dr.  Meid:  Would  you  take  in 
hand  to  give  him  two  or  three  pages  each  (double  columns),  con- 
densing the  most  wanted  p>opular  information  as  to  these  men  ? 
If  so,  he  would  gladly  jump,  and  I  should  certainly  be  much  grati- 
fied, because  I  perceive  in  him  the  most  sincere  desire  to  have  con- 
nection literary  with  your  honor. 

"  l*ray  address  to  me,  care  of  Captain  Scott,  15th  Hussars,  Dublin, 
if  you  wish  to  write  to  me  immediately ;  if  not,  my  motions  are  so 
uncertain  that  you  had  much  better  write  to  Constable  himself,  or 

*  Political  Economy. 


284  MEMOm   OF   JOUX    WILSON. 

to  me  when  I  return.     As  to  the  articles,  nine  of  them  are  wanted 
this  year. 

"I  beg  my  best  respects  to  Mrs.  "Wilson,  and  to  all  the  bairns, 
gi-eeting.     Yours  affectionately,  J.  G.  Lockhart." 

About  that  time  there  was  no  small  excitement  at  Elleray  in  the 
anticipation  of  a  visit  from  Sir  Walter  Scott.  Mr.  Canning  was 
also  in  the  neighborhood,  and  there  was  a  desire  to  do  honor  to 
both  by  some  grand  demonstration.  On  the  17th  August,  Lock- 
hart  writes  to  Wilson,  '*  On  board  the  steamboat  '  Harlequin,'  half- 
way from  Dublin  to  Holyhead :" — 

"  My  dear  Wilsox  : — Here  we  are,  alive  and  hearty.  Sir  "Wal- 
ter Scott,  Anne  Scott,  and  myself;  and  I  write  you  at  the  desire  of 
the  worthy  Baronet  to  say,  that  there  has  been  some  sort  of  nego- 
tiation about  meeting  Mr.  Canning  at  your  friend  Bolton's.  He 
fears  Mr.  Canning  will  be  gone  ere  now,  but  is  resolved  still  to  take 
"Windermere  en  route.  We  shall,  therefore,  sleep  at  Lancaster  on 
Friday  night,  and  breakfast  at  Kendal,  Saturday  morning.  Sir  W. 
leaves  it  to  you  to  dispose  of  him  for  the  rest  of  that  day.  You 
can,  if  Mr.  Canning  is  at  Storrs,  let  Col.  Bolton  know  the  move- 
ments of  Sir  W.,  and  so  forth ;  or  you  can  sport  us  a  dinner  your- 
self; or  you  can,  if  there  is  any  inconvenience,  order  one  and  beds 
for  us  at  Admiral  Ullock's.  "\Ve  mean  to  remain  over  the  Sunday 
to  visit  you,  at  any  rate  ;  so  do  about  the  Saturday  as  you  like.  I 
believe  Sir  "W.  expects  to  call  both  on  "Wordsworth  and  Southey  in 
going  northwards;  but  I  suppose  if  Canning  is  with  you,  they  are 
with  you  also.  Canning  in  his  letter  to  Scott  calls  you  '  Lord  High 
Admiral  of  the  Lakes.' 

"I  am  delighted  to  find  that  there  is  this  likelihood  of  seeing  you, 
and  trust  ^Irs.  Wilson  is  thoroughly  restored.  I  have  hea'd  from 
nobody  in  Scotland  but  my  wife,  who  gives  no  news  but  strictly 
domestic.  Peihaps  this  will  not  reach  you  in  time  to  let  us  find  a 
line  at  Kendal  informing  us  of  your  arrangements.     Yours  always, 

"J.    G.    LOCKIIAKT." 

Sir  Walter,  with  his  daughter,  Miss  Scott,  and  Mr.  Lockhart, 
visited  Elleray,  as  was  promised,  and  remained  there  for  three  days. 
Of  this  meeting  Mr.  Lockhart  writes: — "On  the  banks  of  Winder 


LITEKAKY    AMD    DOMESTIC    LIFE.  2S5 

mere  we  were  received  with  the  warmth  of  old  friendship  by  Mr. 
Wilson  and  one  whose  grace  and  gentle  goodness  could  have  found 
no  lovelier  or  fitter  home  than  Elleiay,  except  where  she  now  is.'"* 

All  honor  was  done  to  the  illustrious  guest,  and  my  fiither  ar- 
i-anged  that  he  should  be  entertained  by  a  beautiful  aquatic  specta- 
cle. It  was  a  scene  worthy  *a  royal  progress,  and  resembled  some 
of  those  rare  pageants  prepared  for  the  reception  of  regal  brides 
beneath  the  dazzling  sunshine  of  southern  skies.  "  There  were 
brilliant  cavalcades  through  the  woods  in  the  mornings,  and  deli- 
cious boatings  on  the  lake  by  moonlight,  and  the  last  day  '  The  Ad- 
miral of  the  Lake'  presided  over  one  of  the  most  splendid  regattas 
that  ever  enlivened  Windermere.  Perhaps  there  were  not  fewer 
than  fifty  barges  following  in  the  Professor's  radiant  procession 
when  it  paused  at  the  Point  of  Storrs,  to  admit  into  the  place  of 
honor  the  vessel  that  carried  kind  and  happy  Mr.  Bolton  and  his 
guest.  The  three  Bards  of  the  Lakes  led  the  cheers  that  hailed 
Scott  and  Canning;  and  the  music  and  sunshine,  flags,  streamers, 
and  gay  dresses,  the  merry  hum  of  voices,  and  the  ra{)id  splashing 
of  innumerable  oars,  made  up  a  dazzling  mixture  of  sensations,  as 
the  flotilla  wound  its  way  among  richly-tbliaged  islands,  and  along 
bays  and  promontories  peopled  with  enthii.siastic  spectators."! 

My  fatlier  invited  various  friends  from  Scotland  at  this  gay  and 
uotable  time,  to  join  in  the  geneial  welcome  given  to  Scott ;  among 
others,  he  asked  his  old  and  esteemed  friend  the  Professor  of 
Natural  History,  Mr.  Jameson,];  who  was  reluctantly  detained  by 
his  duties  as  editor  of  Tlie  Edinburgh  JPhilosophiccd  fTownal :  his 
letter  is  of  suflicient  interest  to  be  given  here : — 

"  My  dear  Sir  : — I  have  delayed  from  day  to  day  answering 
your  khid  letter,  in  expectation  of  being  able  to  make  such  arrange- 
ments as  would  allow  me  the  pleasure  of  visiting  you,  but  in  vain  ; 
and  now  I  find,  from  unforeseen  circumstances,  that  I  must  forego 
the  happiness  of  a  ramble  with  you  tliis  season.  ]\[y  sister,  or 
rather  sisters,  who  were  to  accompany  me,  and  who  beg  their  best 
wishes  and  kindest  thanks  to  you  for  your  polite  invitation,  wish 
all  printers,  and  printers'  devils,  at  the  bottom  of  the  lied  Sea. 
They  have  been  in  a  state  of  semi-insurrection  against  me  foi  some 

•  Life  of  Scott.  +  lUd. 

X  Professor  Jaiueson  dictl  in  1S53,  <vtat  eij^hty. 


286  MEMOIR    OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

time,  owing  to  the  putting  off  of  the  expedition,  but  arc  now  re- 
signed to  their  fate. 

"  Edinburgh  is  at  present  very  dull,  and  very  stupid,  and  we  are 
only  kept  alive  by  the  visits  of  interesting  strangers. 

"  The  adventures  of  the  regatta  have  reached  this,  and  my  sisters 
expect  to  hear  from  Miss  Wilson,  who,  they  presume,  acted  a  dis- 
tinguished part  in  the  naval  conflict,  an  animated  account  of  all  that 
befell  the  admirals.  Some  German  philosophers  say  that  a  man — 
that  1  presume  does  not  exclude  a  professor — may  be  in  many  places 
at  the  same  time.  I  was  rather  inclined  to  doubt  the  accuracy  of 
this  notion,  but  now  it  seems  to  be  confirmed  in  yourself,  for,  on 
the  same  day,  you  were  buried  at  Edinburgh,  and  alive  and  merry 
at  EUeray.* 

"  All  here  join  in  best  wishes  to  your  family  and  Mrs.  Wilson, 
and  believe  me  to  remain  yours  faithfully  and  sincerely, 

"Rob.  Jamesojt. 

"My  dear  sir,  I  hope  you  Avill  not  forget  your  promise  of  a  paper 
for  The  Fjdinhurgh  Philosopldcal  Journal.  The  effects  of  the 
scenery  of  a  country  on  its  population  would  form  a  very  interest- 
ing topic,  and  one  which  affords  an  ample  field  for  interesting  ob- 
servation." 

Soon  after  returning  to  Scotland,  Lockhart  writes,  not  in  the  best 
of  spirits.     What  the  opening  allusion  is  to,  I  do  not  know  : — 

"  CiiiEFSWooD,  Wednesdaxj.  1825. 
"  My  dear  Wilsox  : — I  have  received  your  letter,  and  shall  not 
say  more  in  regard  to  one  part  of  its  contents  than  that  I  ara 
heartily  sensible  to  your  kindness,  and  shall  in  all  time  coming  r<.'- 

*  This  refers  to  a  practical  joke  of  Mr.  Lockhfo-t's,  but  not  known  at  the  time  to  have  origin- 
ated with  him ;  a  joke  which  iiii<;ht  have  ended  in  painful  results  had  it  come  untiineously  to 
the  cars  of  any  one  ne:irly  connected  with  its  object.  It  was  no  less  than  a  formal  announceniftit 
of  Professor  Wilson's  sudden  death  in  the  leading  columns  of  Tlif,  Weehbj  Jonriuil,  aloni:  with  a 
panegyric  upon  his  character,  written  in  the  usual  style  adopted  when  noting  the  death  of  ecle- 
bnitcd'  persons.  I  have  not  been  able  to  find  the  paper,  but  I  believe  't  was  only  inf  prted  in  a 
very  few  copies.  On  a  later  occasion  Mr.  Lockhart  amused  himself  in  a  similar  manner.  I.y  a'l- 
pending  to  a  paper  on  Lord  Robertson's  poems  in  The  Quarterly  lievivio,  the  folIowiiK?  distich  : 

"  Heie  lies  the  peerless  paper  lord,  Lord  Peter. 
Who  broke  the  laws  of  God,  and  man,  and  metre." 

These  lines  were.  howL-ver.  only  in  one  copy,  which  was  sent  to  the  senator;  but  the  joke  lay  Ib 
Lord  Robertson's  im:igiiii;ig  that  it  was  in  the  whole  edition. 


I 


LITERARY    AND   DOMESTIC    LIFE.  287 

spect  most  religiously  the  feelings  wliich  I  cannot  but  honor  in  you 
as  to  that  matter.  I  hope  I  may  be  as  briuf  in  my  vords  about 
Mrs.  Wilson.  I  trust  the  cool  weather,  and  quiet  of  a  few  weeks, 
will  have  all  the  good  elFects  you  look  forward  to,  and  that  I  shall 
have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  all  well  and  gladsome,  iu  spite  of 
all  that  hath  been  in  the  month  of  November.  As  for  you,  I  do 
think  it  is  Ukely  we  may  meet  earlier.  All  I  know  of  Canning's 
motions  is,  that  Sir  W.  Scott  expects  him  at  Abbotsfoi-d  very  early 
in  October;  the  day  not  fixed  that  I  know  of.  I  cannot  help  think- 
ing that  you  would  be  much  out  of  your  duty,  both  to  others  and 
to  yourself,  if  you  did  not  come  down  ;  for  there  is  to  be  at  least 
one  public  dinner  in  C.'s  ofier — I  mean  from  the  Pitt  Club — and  I 
think  he  can't  refuse.  You  must  come  down  and  show  that  we 
have  one  speaker  among  us — for  certes  we  have  but  one — unless 
the  President  himself  should  come  forth  on  the  occasion,  which  I 
take  to  be  rather  out  of  the  dice.  I  know  Sir  W.  also  will  be  par- 
ticularly gratified  in  seeing  you  come  out  on  such  a  tield-day.  I 
wish  you  would  just  put  yourself  into  the  mail  and  come  to  me 
here  when  C.  leaves  Storrs,  and  then  you  would  see  him  at  Abbots- 
ford,  and  at  Edinburgh  also,  without  trouble  of  any  kind.  The 
little  trip  would  shake  your  spirits  up,  and  do  you  service  every 
way.  I  assure  you  it  would  do  me  a  vast  deal  of  good  too.  I  have 
been  far  from  well  either  in  health  or  spirits  for  some  time  back, 
and  indeed  exist  merely  by  dint  of  forcing  myself  to  do  something. 
I  have  spent  five  or  six  hours  on  Shakspere  regularly,  and  have 
found  that  sort  of  work  of  great  use  to  me,  it  being  one  that  can 
be  grai)pled  with  without  that  full  flow  of  vigor  necessary  for  any 
thing  like  toriting  ;  and  I  wish  you  had  some  similar  job  by  you  to 
take  up  when  the  spirit  is  not  exactly  in  its  highest  status.  I  heard 
grand  accounts  of  you  the  other  day  from  the  young  Duke  of  Buc- 
cleuch  and  his  governor,  Blakeney — a  very  superior  man,  by  the 
way.  It  would  make  me  happy  indeed  to  see  you  here,  and  1  may 
say  the  same  of  not  a  few  round  about  me. 

"I  shall  not  fail  to  write  you  again,  if  I  hear  any  thing  worth 
telling  as  to  C. ;  but  I  think  it  more  likely  you  should  than  I,  and  I 
hope  you  will  write  me  if  that  be  the  case. 

"  One  word  as  to  Ebony.*  It  is  clear  he  must  go  down  now. 
Maginn,  you  have  heard,  I  suppose,  is  universally  considered  as  the 

*  Tin:  ioiihrii/uet  by  which  Mr.  Bhickwood  w:is  known  by  his  conuibutors. 


288 


MEMOIR   OF    JOHN    WILSON, 


Bole  man  o£  the  Johti  Hull  3fagazine ;  a  most  infainous  concern, 
and  in  general  displaying  a  marvellous  lack  of  every  thing  but  the 
supremest  impudence.      I  foresee  sore  rubs  between  Ebony  and 

him.      is  exceedingly  insolent  Avhen  he  has  nobody  near 

him,  as  is  tlie  case  at  present — cuts  and  maims — keeps  back,  etc., 
etc. ;  in  short,  is  utterly  disgusting. 

"  You  will  have  i)erceived  that  I  have  done  very  little  this  sum- 
mer. How  could  I?  I  am  totally  sick  of  all  that  sort  of  concern, 
and  would  most  gladly  say,  '  farewell  forever.' 

"  Yours  aifectionately  always,  J.  G.  Lockhart." 

It  appears  that  Mr.  Canning  did  not  visit  Abbotsford,  and  the 
anticipated  o[)poi-tunity  of  showing  that  there  was  "one  speaker"  in 
Scotland  did  not  therefore  occur. 

The  brilliant  and  versatile,  but  somewhat  dangerous  pen  of  Ma- 
ginn,*  was  at  this  time  in  full  employment  for  the  Magazine.     In 

*  William  Maginn,  alias  Ensign  O'Doherty,  alias  Luctus,  alias  Dr.  Olinthus  Petre,  Trinity 
ColIegB,  Dublin,  Ac,  &c.,  was  born  at  Cork  in  179-t,  and  died  in  London  in  1842.  This  versatile 
writer  and  singular  man  of  genius  began  to  contribute  to  Blackwood  in  November,  ISl'J.  Dr. 
Miiir  says  that  his  first  article  was  a  translation  into  Latin  of  the  ballad  of  "Chevy  Chase," 
which  was  followed  by  numerous  articles  containing  both  wit  and  sarcasm,  which  Mr.  Black- 
wood had  to  pay  for  in  the  case  of  Le.slie  v.  Hebrew.  Although  ho  continued  to  write  for  Black- 
wood, the  publisher  was  not  acquainted  with  his  real  name,  and  the  account  of  their  first  inter- 
view is  amusingly  told  by  Dr.  Moir:* — 

"I  remember  having  afterwards  been  infonnid  by  Mr.  IJIackwood  that  the  Doctor  arrived  iL 
Edinburgh  on  Sunday  evening,  and  found  liis  way  out  to  Ncwingt.on,  where  he  then  resided 
It  so  hajipened  that  the  whole  family  had  gone  to  the  country  a  few  days  before,  and  in  fact  the 
premises,  e.xcept  the  front  gate,  were  locked  up.  This  the  Doctor  managed,  after  vaiidy  tinging 
and  knocking,  to  open,  and  made  a  circuit  of  the  building,  peei>ing  first  into  one  window  and 
then  another,  where  every  thing  looked  snug  and  comfortable,  though  tenantless.  He  took  oc- 
casion afterwards  to  remark,  that  no  such  temjitation.s  were  allowed  to  prowlers  in  Ireland. 

"On  the  forenoon  of  Monday  he  presented  himself  in  Trinees  street,  at  that  time  Mr.  Black- 
wood's place  of  business,  and  formally  asked  for  an  interview  with  that  gentleman.  The  Doctor 
was  previously  well  aware  tliat  his  quizzes  on  Dowden,  Jennings,  and  Cody  of  Cork  (perfectly 
harmless  as  they  were),  had  produced  a  ferment  in  that  quarter,  which  now  exploded  in  sending 
fierce  and  fiery  letters  to  the  proprietor  of  the  Magazine,  deiiumding  the  name  of  the  writer,  as 
he  had  received  sundry  notes  from  Mr.  lUackwood,  telling  him  the  circumstances;  and  on  Mr. 
l51ackwood  appearing,  the  stranger  ajqirised  him  of  his  wish  to  have  a  private  conversation  with 
liim,  and  this  in  the  strongest  Irish  accent  he  could  assume. 

"On  being  closeted  together,  Mr.  Blackwood  thought  to  himself — as  Mr.  Blackwood  after- 
wards informed  me — '  Here,  at  last,  is  one  of  the  wild  Ii'ishmen,  and  come  for  no  good  i)urpose, 
doubtless.' 

"'  Vou  are  Mr.  Blackwood,  1  presume,'  said  the  stranger. 

"  '  I  am,'  answered  that  gentleman. 

"•1  have  rather  an  unpleasant  business,  then,  with  you,'  lie  added,  'regarding  some  things 
which  appeared  in  your  Magazine.  They  are  so  and  so,  would  you  be  so  kind  as  to  give  mo 
the  name  of  the  author?' 

*   D«/j/in  6^niyfr«i(;^  .Vui7<iri7i«,  J.inURry,  18-44,  which  contains  the  fullefit  account  of  Mh^iui's   ILfa  and  writing!  1  hjiv» 


LITKKAHV    AND    DOMKSTIC    LIFK.  2S9 

the  N'octes  in  particular,  where  the  character  of  the  coinpositioii 
allowed  most  IVecdom  of  expression,  he  took  his  full  swing,  and 
laid  about  him  in  true  Donnybrook  style.  Whether  the  "sore 
rubs"  anticipated  by  Lockhart  occurred,  I  have  no  means  of 
knowing  ;  probably  they  did.  That  he  sometimes  caused  consider- 
able annoyance  to  the  judicious  editor  will  appear  from  the  follow- 
ing brief  note  to  Wilson  about  this  very  time.  The  reference  in 
the  conclusion  is  to  Mr.  Blackwood's  candidature  for  the  office  of 
Lord  l*rovost,  in  Avhich  he  was  unsuccessful. 

"  Edinburgh,  August  22,  1825 
"My  dear  Sir: — I  received  your  packet  in  time,  and  I  hope 
you  will  find  the  whole  correctly  printed,  though  I  M-as  obliged  to 
put  to  press  in  a  great  hurry.     I  only  got  Mnginn's  Song  on  Satur- 
day night,  after  I  had  put  the  sheets  to  press. 

"  On  Thursday  I  received  from  him  some  more  of  the  JV^octes, 
but  I  did  not  like  them,  as  he  attacked  Moore  again  with  great 
bitterness  for  his  squibs  upon  the  King,  and  charged  the  Marquis 
of  Hastings  as  a  hoary  courtier,  who  had  provoked  Moore  toith  his 
libels  upon  the  King.  I  have  written  him  that  it  really  will  not  do 
to  rim  a-muck  in  this  kind  of  way.     I  hope  you  will,  on  the  whole, 

"  '  That  requires  consideration,'  said  Mr.  Blackwood  ;  '  and  I  must  first  be  satisfied  that — ' 

"' Your  correspondent  resides  in  Cork, doesu't  he?  You  need  not  make  any  mystery  about 
that.' 

"'I  decline  at  present,'  said  Mr.  B.,  'giving  any  information  on  that  head,  before  I  know  more 
of  this  business — of  your  jmrpose — an<l  who  you  arc.' 

"'You  are  very  shy,  sir,' said  the  stninger;  'I  thought  you  corresjionded  with  Mr.  Scott,  of 
Cork,'  mentioning  the  assumed  name  under  which  the  Doctor  had  hitherto  communicated  with 
the  Muga/iiie. 

" '  I  beg  to  decline  giving  any  information  on  that  subject,'  was  the  response  of  Mr.  Blackwood. 

"'If  you  don't  know  him,  then,'  sputtered  out  the  stranger,  'perhaps,  perhaps  you  could  know 
your  own  handwriting,'  at  the  same  moment  producing  a  packet  of  letters  from  his  side-pocket. 
'You  need  not  deny  your  correspondence  willi  that  gentleman  ;  I  am  that  gentleman.' 

"Such  was  the  whimsiciU  introduction  of  Dr.  Maginn  to  Mr.  Blackwood;  and  after  a  cordial 
Bhake  of  the  hand  and  a  hearty  laugh,  the  pair  were  in  a  few  minutes  up  to  the  elbows  in 
friendship." 

From  this  time,  1820,  till  1828,  he  continued  his  contributions  more  or  less  frequently.  In  1S24, 
«bout  the  time  Mr.  Lockhart  writes  of  him,  he  was  appointed  foreign  correspondent  of  T/ie  li^p- 
renentdtire;  but  as  this  newspaper  was  not  long-lived,  he  was  again  thrown  upon  his  resources, 
and  he  earned  a  scanty  livelihood  by  writing  for  the  periodicals.  lie  assisted,  as  Mr.  Lockhart 
says,  Theodore  Hook,  in  the  John  Bull,  and  obtained  so  much  reputation  as  a  political  writer,  that 
on  -he  establishment  of  the  Standard,  he  was  appointed  joint  editor  of  the  latter.  He  was  ul- 
timately connected  with  the  foundation  of  J^/v//»«r'«  Magazine,  m  IS.'^O,  and  along  with  Father 
Mahony,  Mr.  Hugh  Fraser,  and  others,  gave  that  periodical  his  heartiest  support.  lie  was  then 
in  the  zenith  of  his  fame,  and  his  society  courted;  but  in  1S34  he  was  again  corresponding  with 
Mr.  Blackwooil.  dating  his  contributions  from  a  giirret  in  Wych  street,  Strand,  and  from  this  time 
till  his  death  his  eondiiion  was  one  of  wretchedness. 


290  MEMOIK   OF   JOHN    ^V1LS0^. 

like  tliis  number,  and  that  you  will  be  in  good  spirits  to  do  somo 
thiiiij  very  soon  for  next  one.  I  fully  expected  to  have  had  the 
pleasure  of  a  letter  from  you  either  yesterday  or  to-day. 

"  A  letter  from  you,  however  short,  is  always  a  treat.  The  can- 
vass for  the  Provostship  is  as  hot  as  ever,  but  the  result  does  not 
now  appear  so  certain  as  when  I  last  wrote  you ;  still,  I  do  not  de- 
spair, and  I  trust  we  shall  be  successful. 

"  I  am,  my  dear  sir,  yours  truly,  W.  Blackavood." 

Mr.  Lockhart's  temporary  disgust  at  magazine  writing  did  not 
affect  his  productive  activity.  Very  soon  after  writing  the  foregoing 
letter,  he  was  hard  at  work  writing  articles  for  Janu^,  which  began 
to  be  printed  early  in  September,  and  was  published  about  the  ckise 
of  November,  1S25.  The  various  letters  which  passed  between  the 
editors  and  the  publisher  on  the  subject  are  entirely  occupied  with 
the  details  of  "  MS.",  "  slips,"  "  proofs,"  and  "  forms."  They  con- 
tain,  however,  the  materials  for  ascertainiug  the  contributions  of  the 
two  principal  writers,  a  hst  of  which  will  be  found  in  the  Appendix. 
Tlie  following  letter  from  my  father  to  Delta  is  given,  as  being  the 
first  communication  between  them  which  I  have  found,  and  as  illus- 
trating his  mode  of  discharging  the  delicate  duty  of  telling  a  friend 
that  his  MS.  is  not  "  suitable."  It  is  also  his  first  letter  dated  from 
Gloucester  Place : — 

"  Gloucester  Place,  No.  S,  Friday. 

"  My  dear  Sir  : — On  my  arrival  here,  a  few  days  ago,  I  found 
in  the  hands  of  Messi's.  Oliver  and  Boyd,  an  extract  from  a  tale  in- 
tended for  Janxis.  As  I  take  an  interest  in  that  volume,  I  trouble 
you  with  a  few  linos,  as  I  know  your  handwriting. 

"I  had  intended  writing  to  you  to  request  a  contribution  to  Ja- 
mes^ but  delayed  it  from  time  to  time,  uncertain  of  the  progress  that 
double-faced  gentleman  was  making  towards  publicity. 

"  Copy  for  350  pages  is  already  in  the  printer's  hands,  and  I  h.ave 
about  120  pages  of  my  own  MS.,  and  of  a  friend,  to  send  in  a  few 
days,  which,  owing  to  ])eculiar  circumstances,  must  make  part  of  the 
volume,  so  that  470  pages  may  be  snpjiosed  to  be  contributed.  A 
number  of  small  pieces  too  are  floating  about,  which  it  is  not  easy 
to  know  how  to  dispose  of. 

"I  am,  however,  anxious  th.it  something  of  yours  should  be  in 
this  volume,  and  if  it  be  possible,  '^"-M-e^  shall  be,  if  you  wish  it. 


LITEKAKY    2VSI)    DUMICSTIO    Ml'K,  291 

"  Tlie  funeral  scene  is  certainly  good,  natural,  and  true,  and  as 
part  of  a  tale,  I  have  no  doubt  it  will  be  eifective.  Standin;jj  Ijy  it 
self  it  does  not  strike  me  as  one  of  your  best  things  (many  of  which 
are  most  beautiful  and  most  lively),  and  I  should  wish  to  have  in 
Janus  one  that  I  at  least  like  better. 

"  I  liad  in  my  possession,  some  time  ago,  a  MS.  volume  of  yours 
containing  several  ])rose  tales,  one  of  which,*  about  a  minister,  a 
bachelor,  I  think,  or  widower,  loving  or  being  made  to  love  his 
housekeeper,  or  somebody  else,  I  thought  admirable.  Another  tale, 
too,  thei-e  was,  of  a  lively  character  that  I  liked  much,  but  I  forget 
its  name.f  I  generally  forget,  or  at  least  retain  an  indistinct  re- 
membrance of  what  gives  me  most  i>leasure.  Had  I  that  volume  I 
would  select  a  tale  fiom  it  for  Janus.  The  worst  of  Janus  is,  that 
a  page  holds  so  little  in  comparison  with  a  magazine  page,  that  even 
a  short  story  takes  up  necessarily  great  room. 

"Sliould  tlie  volume  prove  an  annual,  I  hope  you  will  contribute. 

"This  is  not  a  contidential  communication.  Mr.  Lockliart  and  I 
have  no  objections  to  be  spoken  of  as  friends  and  contributors  to 
Janus,  but,  on  the  contrary,  wish  to  be.  But  let  all  contributors 
keep  their  own  counsel.  I  am,  my  dear  sir,  yours  with  much  re- 
gard, JoHx  Wilson." 

On  her  way  to  Edinburgh  from  EUeray,  my  mother  was  taken 
alarmingly  ill,  and  was  lor  some  time  in  a  very  precarious  state. 
This,  combined  with  the  labors  of  the  opening  University  session, 
left  little  leisure  for  literary  work  ;  MS.  for  Janus  was  therefore  in 
great  demand,  and  proof-sheets  had  to  be  revised  after  the  class 
hour  in  the  Professor's  "  retiring-room."  Some  contributions  had 
also  been  expected  from  Mr.  De  Quincey,  which,  however,  did  not 
make  iheir  appearance.  The  work  at  last  came  out  in  the  form  of 
a  very  tinely-piinted  small  octavo  volume  of  542  pages,  which  was 
sold  at  the  price  of  12s,  There  were  no  embellisliments  beyond  a 
vignette  representation  of  the  two-foced  god,  and  no  names  were 
triven  on  the  title-page  or  in  the  table  of  contents.  The  preface  an- 
liounces  that  the  volume  is  intended  to  l)e  the  tirst  of  a  series,  to  be 
published  annually  early  in  November.  It  never  went,  however, 
beyond  its  first  number,  not  having  received  encouragement  enough 

*  This  appcarod  in  the  voluiiio  uudcr  the  title,  "Saturday  Night  in  tbo  Manse," 
t  Probably  "  Daniel  Cathio,  toboccouiat." 


292  MEMOIlt    OF   JOITS    AVILSOX. 

to  warrant  the  risk  of  a  second  trial.  As  the  pubHslier  de:ilt  lib 
crally  with  the  authors,  we  may  infer  that  the  book  did  not  pay  so 
well  as  it  might  have  done  with  poorer  matter  and  a  low^r  price. 
There  was,  in  fact,  too  much  good  writing  in  this  now  little  known 
volume :  such  a  crop  could  not  be  "  annual,"  and  so  it  came  up  but 
once.  Its  name  suggests  the  character  of  the  subjects  contained  in 
its  pages,  which  vary  in  range  between  the  seriousness  of  philoso- 
phy and  the  facetiousuess  of  genuine  humor ;  as  free  from  duluess 
in  the  one  kind  as  from  flippancy  in  the  other.  Among  the  shorter 
and  lighter  papers,  there  is  one  from  the  French,  but  not  a  transla- 
tion, that  gives  the  history  of  a  dog,  "  Moustache,"  whose  charac- 
teristic individuality  is  as  skilfully  portrayed  as  if  it  had  come  from 
the  hand  of  a  literary  "Landseer."*  From  the  list  of  contents  it 
will  be  seen  that  nearly  the  whole  was  produced  by  the  editors. 
Of  the  few  contributions  by  other  hands,  are  Miss  Edgeworth's 
witty  "  Thoughts  on  Bores,"  and  one  or  two  pleasant  sketches  by 
Delta. 

Mr.  Lockhart  left  Chiefswood  for  London  in  December,  1825,  to 
assume  the  editorship  of  the  Quarterly  Review.  The  following  let- 
ter appears  to  have  been  written  the  day  after  he  had  taken  posses- 
sion of  the  editorial  chair  : — 

"  25  Pall  Mall,  23d  December,  1825. 

"  My  dear  Wilsox  : — It  was  only  yesterday  that  we  got  our- 
selves at  length  established  under  a  roof  of  our  own,  otherwise 
you  should  have  heard  from  me,  and,  as  it  is,  I  must  entreat  that 
whatever  you  do  as  to  the  rest  of  my  letter,  you  will  write  inuue- 
diatelt/,  to  say  how  Mrs.  Wilson  is.  I  have  often  thought  with 
pain  of  the  state  in  which  we  left  her,  and,  through  her,  you,  and  I 
shall  not  think  pleasantly  of  any  thing  connected  with  you,  until  I 
hear  better  tidings. 

"Murray,  from  what  he  said  to  me,  would  answer  Boyd's  letter 
in  the  aflirmative.  I  did  not  choose  to  press  him,  but  said  what  T 
wuld  with  decency. f 

"  As  I  feared  and  hinted,  you  are  rather  in  a  scrape  about  the 

*  Of  such  is  Dr.  John  Brown,  who,  in  Our  Dogs,  has  unravelled  the  instinctive  beauties  and 
touching  sa;.'acity  of  the  canine  race,  with  a  delicacy  of  f>erception  and  cunning  workmanship  of 
thought  truly  adiiiir.iblo.  '•IIab"and  "  Moustache,"  in  their  devotion  of  purpose,  would  per- 
fectly have  appreciated  e;ich  other;  but,  al.is!  the  faithful  companion  of "  Ailie,"  and  the  bravo 
"  Moustache."  must  remain  for  ever  the  heroes  of  their  own  tales.  These  are  not  dogs  to  be  met 
with  every  day :  they  couiu,  like  epic  poems,  after  a  lapse  i»f  j»ges,  and  like  them  ai-e  immortal, 
t  I'robably  refers  lo  Murray  becoming  the  Lon.lon  publisher  oi  Junti*. 


LITKRARY    AND   DOMESTIC    LITE.  293 

Uranus  poem,  the  proprietor  of  it  being  some  old  Don,  who  for  these 
seven  years  had  dunned  Murray  constantly,  the  bookseller  in  the 
mean  time  writing,  he  says,  to  Blackwood,  equally  in  vain. 

"One  thing  remains;  that  the  whole  3I<S.  he  forthwith  transmit- 
ted to  Murray  ;  in  that  case  the  old  gent,  may  probably  never  know 
of  the  printing  of  any  part.  I  fear  the  volume  is  heavy  on  the  whole ; 
but  T  know  the  deepness  of  my  own  prejudice  against  metaphysical 
essays,  and  would  fain  hope  it  is  not  hirgely  partaken. 

"  Maginn  is  off  for  Paris,  where  I  hope  he  will  behave  himself. 
He  has  an  opportunity  of  retrieving  much,  if  he  will  use  it.  I 
think  there  can  be  nothing  in  his  removal  to  injure  his  writings  in 
Blcickwooil.,  but  au  contraire^  and  certainly  nothing  to  duiiinish 
their  quantity. 

"  Mr. has  yesterday  transferred  to  me  the  treasures  of 

the  Review  ;  and  I  must  say,  my  dear  Wilson,  that  his  whole  stock 
is  not  worth  five  shillings.  Thank  God,  other  and  better  hands  are 
at  work  for  my  first  number,  or  I  should  be  in  a  pretty  hobble. 
My  bt'lief  is  that  he  has  been  living  on  the  stock  bequeathed  by 
Gitibrd,  and  the  contributions  of  a  set  of  d — d  idiots  of  Oriel, 
But  mind  now,  Wilson,  I  am  sure  to  have  a  most  hard  struggle  to 
get  up  a  very  good  first  Number,  and,  if  I  do  not,  it  will  be  the 
Devil.  I  entreat  you  to  cast  about  for  a  serious  and  important 
subject ;  give  your  mind  full  scope,  and  me  the  benefit  of  a  week's 
Christmas  leisure. 

"  Murray's  newspapei*  concerns  seem  to  go  on  flourishingly. 
The  title,  I  am  rather  of  belief,  wnll  be  '  The  Representative,'*  but 
he  has  not  yet  fixed. 

"  I  shall  write  you  in  due  time,  and  at  length,  as  to  that  busi- 
ness. 

"As  for  me  personally,  everything  goes  on  smoothly.  I  have 
the  kindest  letters  from  Southey,  and  indeed  from  all  the  real  sup- 

*  Murray's  newspaper  concerns  did  not  po  on  "flonrishinfrly,"  as  may  be  gathered  from  the  fol 
lowing  note: — "With  Mr.  Benjamin  Disraeli  for  editor,  and  witty  Dr.  Maginn  for  Paris  Corrr  - 
pondent,  John  Murray's  new  daily  paper,  Tlie  Jiepreseiitntire  (priee  7d.),  began  its  inauspieious 
career  on  the  26th  January,  1&2G.  It  is  needless  to  rake  up  the  history  of  a  dead  and  buried  dis- 
aster. Aft«ir  a  short  and  unhappy  career  of  six  months,  The  Keprexentatite  expired  of  debility 
on  the  snl'sefjuent  29th  of  July.  The  Thames  was  not  on  fire,  and  Printing  House  Square  stood 
calmly  where  it  had  stood.  When,  in  after  years,  sanguine  and  speculative  projectors  enlarged  to 
John  Murray  on  the  exeellont  ojiening  for  a  new  daily  paper,  he  of  Albemarle  street  would  shake 
his  head,  aud  with  iiither  a  melancholy  expression  of  countenance,  pointing  to  a  thin  folio  on  his 
shelves,  would  say, 'Twenty  thousand  poimds  are  buriwl  there."" — "Histories  of  Publishing 
lioua  s."  Clitic.  January  21.  lalKi. 


294  MEMOIK   OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

porters  of  the  Review.     Give  my  love  to  Cay,  and  do  now  ^crite, 
tcrite,  xcrite  to  yours  affectly.,  J.  G.  Lockuakt." 

l>uring  the  following  year  my  father  contributed  no  less  than 
twenty-seven  articles,  or  portions  of  articles,  to  the  Magazine,  in- 
cluding the  following,  afterwards  republished,  in  the  collected  works 
by  Professor  Ferrier :—"  Cottages,"  "Streams,"  "Meg  Dods," 
"  Gymnastics."  The  only  month  in  which  nothing  of  his  appeared 
was  May ;  the  month  of  April,  which  closed  the  session,  being  his 
busiest  at  the  College,  except  November.  During  the  autumn  of 
this  year,  business  of  some  importance  obliged  him  to  go  into 
Westmoreland.  He  was  accompanied  by  his  daughter  Margaret 
and  his  son  Blair,  and  daring  his  absence  wrote  regularly  to  his 
wife,  giving  pleasant  local  gossip  and  descriptions  of  the  improve- 
ments at  Elleray.  The  dinner  at  Kendal,  of  which  he  speaks,  was 
one  of  political  interest  connected  with  the  Lowther  family,  at 
which  he,  as  a  matter  of  course,  was  desirous  to  be  present.  Mrs. 
Wilson's  brother-in-law,  Mr.  James  Penny  Machell  of  Penny  Bridge, 
was  High  Sheriif  that  year  at  the  Lancaster  Assizes,  which  accounts 
for  the  allusions  to  the  trials,  besides  that  some  of  them  excited  uu- 
iisual  interest. 

"Kendal,  22d  August,  1826, 
Tuesday  Morning,  Half-past  TJtree. 

"  My  deaeest  Jane  : — I  wrote  you  a  few  lines  from  Carlisle, 
stating  our  successful  progress  thus  far,  and  we  arrived  here  same 
night  at  half-past  eleven.  Not  a  bed  in  the  house,  nor  any  supper 
to  be  got,  the  cook  having  gone  to  bed.  I  however  got  Maggie 
and  Blair  a  very  nice  bed  in  a  private  house,  and  saw  them  into  it. 
I  slept,  or  tried  to  do  so,  on  a  sofa,  but  quite  in  vain.  In  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  we  set  off  for  Elleray  in  a  chaise,  which  we  shall  reach 
to  breakfast  about  half-past  ten.  We  are  all  a  good  deal  disgusted 
with  our  reception  last  night  in  tliis  bad  and  stupid  inn. 

"  It  is  a  very  fine  day,  and  Elleray  will  be  beautiful ;  I  should 
think  of  you  every  hour  I  am  there,  but  to-morrow  you  know  I  am 
to  be  in  Kendal  again,  and  shall  write  to  you  before  the  dinner.  I 
have  seen  nobody  in  the  town  whatever,  and,  of  course,  heard 
nothing  about  the  intended  meeting.  The  Mackeands  were  hangeil 
yesterday  (Monday),  an<l  I  h:ivc  just  been  assured  that  the  brother 
Wakefield,  who  w\s  to  have  been  tried  on  Saturday,  has  forfeited 


LITEKARV    AND    DoMKSTIC    LIFK.  295 

his  bail,  and  is  off,  fearing  from  the  judge's  manner  tliat  be  would 
be  imprisoned — if  he  stood  trial — five  years.*  So  there  will  be  no 
trial  at  all  at  Lancaster.  I  hope,  therefore,  yet  to  be  at  Hollow 
Oak. 

"  Think  of  my  bad  luck  in  losing  seven  sovereigns  from  there 
behig  a  hole  in  my  lecturing  pantaloons.  All  the  silver  fell  out  of 
the  one  pocket,  which  Blair  picked  up,  but  the  sovereigns  had 
dr()])ped  forever  through  the  other. 

"  I  will  write  as  often  as  possible,  and  tell  you  all  that  I  hear 
about  the  various  places  and  people.  Kindest  love  to  Johnny  and 
Mary,  who  will  have  their  turn  some  day,  and  also  to  the  lovely 
girl  and  George  Watson. 

"  The  chaise  is  at  the  gate,  and  is  an  open  carriage. 

"  I  am,  my  dearest  Jane,  ever  your  affectionate  husband, 

"  John  Wilson." 

"Kexdal,  August  23,  1826, 
Wednesday  Nigld,  Twelve  o'clock. 

"  My  beloved  Jane  : — The  dinner  is  over,  and  all  went  well. 
Your  letter  I  have  just  received,  of  which  more  anon.  Why  did 
you  not  write  on  Monday  night?  but  thank  God  it  is  come  now. 
We  are  all  well,  and  my  next,  which  will  be  a  post  between,  shall 
be  a  long,  descriptive,  full  and  particular  account  of  every  one 
thing  in  the  country.  It  is  your  own  fault  that  this  is  not  a  long 
letter,  for  ray  misery  all  day  has  been  dreadful.  Mr.  Fleming  was 
with  me  all  day,  and  was  the  kindest  of  friends ;  and  George  Wat 
son  will,  I  am  sure,  Avrite  for  you. 

"I  shall  see  the  Machells,  who  have  returned  home,  and  well,  I 
understand.  Once  more,  God  bless  and  protect  you !  and  get  your 
spectacles  ready  for  next  letter,  which  I  shall  have  time  to  write  at 
length.     Hitherto  I  have  not  had  an  hour. 

"To-morrow,  at  EUeray,  I  shall  write  an  admirable  epistle. 
"  Your  affectionate  husband, 

"John  Wilson. 

"  Love  to  Johnny,  Mary,  TJnibs,  and  George  Watson." 

*  The  two  Mackcinds  were  brothers,  who  had  coniniittcd  an  atrocious  mur-ler  on  the  inhabil 
Hilts  of  a  wnysido  inn.  in  Lancashire.  The  "  brother  Wakcfldd"  was  do  less  a  person  than  Kd ward 
Giblion  Wakifield,  wlioso  slianieful  deception  wove  a  strange  romance  around  the  life  of  Helen 
Turner,  lu-i.l  furnished  to  the  annals  of  law  one  of  the  most  peculiar  cases  that  has  ever  beeu 
recorded. 


296  MEMOIK    OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

"ELLERA.Y,  August  2ith,  1826, 
Thursday  Forenoon. 

"  My  dearest  Jaxe  : — I  shall  give  you  a  sort  of  j^^ecis  of  our 
movement'*.  On  Tues<lay  morning,  at  nine  o'clock,  we  left  Kendal 
in  an  open  carnage,  and  reached  Elleray  before  eleven.  The  day 
was  goodish,  indeed  excellent  at  that  time,  and  the  place  looked 
beautiful  as  of  old.  A  handsome  new  rail  runs  along  from  the  junc- 
tion of  the  new  avenue,  all  along  to  front  of  the  new  house,  and  has 
a  parkish  appearance — painted  of  a  slate  color.  The  house  we  found 
standing  furnished  and  in  all  respects  just  as  we  left  it,  so  that,  I 
suppose,  the  family  have  just  walked  out.  Thcplants  in  the  entrance 
reach  near  the  roof,  one  and  all  of  them,  but  have  few  flowers,  and 
must  be  pruned,  I  fear,  being  enormously  lank  in  proportion  to  their 
thickness,  but  all  in  good  health.  The  little  myrtles  are  about  a 
yard  high,  and  in  high  feather.  The  trees  and  shrubs  have  not 
grown  very  much — it  seems  a  bad  year  for  them ;  but  the  roses  and 
smaller  flowers  have  flourished,  and  those  sent  from  Edinlnxrgh  were 
much  admired.  The  walks  in  the  garden  are  all  gravelled  neatly ; 
the  bower  is  as  green  as  the  sea,  and  really  looks  well.  The  hedge 
lately  planted  round  the  upper  part  is  most  thriving,  and  straw- 
berry-beds luxuriant ;  in  short,  the  garden  looks  pretty.  The  crops 
in  the  fields  are  Ijad,  as  all  in  the  country  are. 

"  In  an  hour  or  two  after  our  arrival  it  began  to  rain  and  blow 
and  bluster  like  Brougham,  so  I  left  the  house.  Dinner  was  served 
in  good  style  at  six ;  fowls,  fish,  and  mutton.  In  the  evening  Wil- 
liam Garnet  came  up,  and  was,  as  you  may  suppose,  in  a  state  of 
bliss.  The  boy  is  well,  and  I  am  to  be  his  godfather  by  proxy.  On 
Wednesday  morning,  I  never  doubted  but  there  would  be  a  letter 
from  you,  as  I  made  you  promise  to  write  every  night  at  six ;  but  I 
never  make  myself  understood.  It  gave  me  great  pain  to  find  there 
was  none ;  but  this  I  alluded  to  before,  so  say  no  more  now,  but 
will  give  you  a  viva  voce  scold  for  it.  Fleming  went  with  me  in  the 
chaise  to  Kendal,  and  at  half-past  three  we  sat  down  to  dinner: 
Lord  Lowther  and  Portarlington  (pronounced  Pohngton),  Colonel 
Lowther,  Henry  Lowther,  Howard  of  Levens,  Colonel  Wilson,  Noel 
of  L^nderlay,  Bolton,  the  little  Captain,  and  fifty-six  others.  It  went 
oft'  with  ec^'/i,  and  I  speechified  a  little,  but  not  too  much,  and  gave 
satisfaction.  Barber  came  over  on  purpose,  and  is  evidently  in  the 
clouds  about  what  I  said  of  his  cottage,  although  he  made  no  allusion 


LITEKAliY    AND    DC'ilESTlU    LIFK.  297 

to  it.  The  ball  in  the  evening  was  apparently  a  plea^^ant  one,  but 
thin,  as  it  was  only  fixed  that  morning  that  theie  was  to  be  on( 
At  twelve  o'clock  the  mail  came  in,  and  I  went  down  myself  to  t' 
Post-Office,  and  got  the  postmaster  to  open  the  bag,  and,  lo  and  be 
hold,  your  letter  of  Tuesday,  which  took  a  load  of  needless  anxiety 
off  my  soul.  God  bless  you!  I  returned  to  the  inn,  and  Barber 
took  me  immediately  in  his  chaise  to  EUeray,  which  we  reached 
about  two,  and  liad  a  little  supper ;  he  then  Avent  on,  and  I  to  bed. 
"  I  am  now  preparing,  after  sound  sleep,  to  call  at  the  Wood  and 
Calgarth.  We  shall  dine  at  the  Wood.  The  children  were  to  have 
dined  there  yesterday,  but  the  rain  prevented  them.  Mrs.  Barlow 
came  up  in  the  evening,  they  tell  me,  with  ]Miss  North.  Gale  was 
found  guilty  of  two  assaults  at  Lancaster,  but  the  anti-Catholic  doc- 
tor allowed  hini  to  get  off  without  fine.  How  absurd  altogether  the 
quarrel  originating  in  Catholic  Emancipation.  I  shall  probably  go 
to  Penny  Bridge  on  Saturday,  but  Avill  write  again  to-morrow,  so 
send  to  the  Post-Olfice  on  Saturday  evening,  and  on  Sunday  too, 
for  letters  are  not  delivered  till  Monda}'.  But  be  sure  you,  or  Mary, 
or  Johnny,  or  George  Watson,  write  every  night,  till  farther  ordei's. 
The  little  pony.  Tickler,  and  Nanny,  the  cow%  are  all  well,  so  is  Star ; 
Colonsay  is  sold  for  four  pounds.  The  last  year's  calf  is  as  large  as 
any  cow,  and  there  is  another  calf  and  two  pigs.  I  shall  give  you 
any  news  I  hear  in  my  next.  I  will  write  to  Johnny  soon.  Your 
affectionate  and  loving  husband,  John  Wilson." 

Tiie  "Colonsay"  mentioned  here  as  sold  "for  four  pounds,"  had 
been  at  one  time  a  pony  of  remarkable  strength  and  sagacity.  A 
few  summers  previously,  my  father  became  acquainted  with  a  Mr. 
Douglas,  who,  with  his  family,  was  then  residing  near  Ambleside. 
This  gentleman  possessed  a  handsome  and  pre])ossessing  appear- 
ance; beyond  that  he  had  not  much  to  recommend  him,  being  nothing 
but  a  sporting-  character,  and  was  after  a  time  discovered  not  to  be 
sans  peur  and  sans  tache.  However,  he  visited  in  all  diiections, 
frequently  coming  to  EUeray.  One  day  he  appeared,  mounted  on  a 
very  fine  animal,  which  he  said  was  thorough-bred,  and  an  unrival- 
led trotter.  This  statement  gave  rise  to  some  discussion  on  the  sub- 
ject of  trotting,  d  propos  of  which,  Wilson  brought  forward  the 
merits  of  a  certain  gray  cob  in  his  possession,  ha'f  jestingly  propos- 
ing a  match  between  it  and  tlie  above-mentioned  "  tlioroughlired." 


298  MEMOIR    OF   JOHN    -WILSON. 

Mr.  Douglas  was  delighted  to  meet  with  an  adventure  so  entirely 
to  his  taste,  so  then  and  there  the  day  and  hour  was  fixeil  for  tlie 
match  to  come  off" — a  fortnight  from  that  time. 

It  is  a  lung-ago  story,  but  I  well  remember  the  excitement  it  cre- 
ated in  the  menage  at  EUeray,  and  the  unusual  care  bestowed  upon 
the  cob, — how  his  feet  were  kei)t  in  cold  cloths,  and  how  he  was 
fed,  and  gently  exercised  daily.  In  short,  the  mystery  about  all  the 
ongoings  at  the  stable  was  most  interesting,  and  we  began  to  regard 
with  something  akin  to  awe  the  hitherto  not  more  than  commonly 
cared  for  animal. 

At  last  the  day  anxiously  looked  for  arrived.  Full  of  glee  and 
excitement  we  ran — sisters  and  brothers — down  the  sloping  fields, 
to  take  a  seat  upon  the  to})  of  a  wall  that  separated  us  from  the  road, 
and  where  we  could  see  the  starting-poi)it.  "  Colonsay"  was  led  in 
triumjjh  to  meet  his  fashionable  rival,  whose  "  get-up"  was  certainly 
excellent.  Both  rider  and  horse  wore  an  air  of  the  turf,  while  my 
father,  in  common  riding  dress,  mounted  his  somewhat  ordinary- 
looking  steed,  just  as  a  gentleman  would  do  going  to  take  his  morn- 
ing ride.  At  last,  after  many  manoeuvres  of  a  knowing  sort,  Mr. 
Douglas  declared  himself  ready  to  start,  and  off"  they  set,  in  j^ace 
very  fairly  matched, — at  least  so  it  se'^med  to  us  from  the  Elleray 
gate. 

To  Lowood,  as  far  as  I  remember,  was  the  distance  for  this  trial. 
Umpires  were  stationed  at  their  respective  points  on  the  road,  and 
Billy  Balmer  kept  a  steady  eye  from  his  station  upon  *'  Colonsay," 
whose  propensity  for  dashing  in  at  open  gates  was  feared  might  I'uin 
his  chance  of  winning.  Meantime,  the  juvenile  band  on  the  wall, 
along  with  Mrs.  Wilson,  were  keeping  eager  watch  for  the  messen- 
ger who  was  to  bring  intelligence  of  the  conquering  hero ;  and  hoTV 
great  was  their  delight  when  in  due  time  they  heard  that  "  Colonsay  " 
had  won  the  day ;  Mr.  Douglas's  much  boasted  of  trotter  having 
broken  into  a  canter. 

This  trotting  match  with  the  handsome  adventurer,  was  the  origin 
of  "Christopher  on  Colonsay"  in  the  pages  of  Blackwood.,  which 
did  not  appear,  however,  till  ten  years  afterwards. 

{ 


LITERARY    AND    DOMKSIIC    LIFE.  '299 


CHAPTER    XIl. 

LITERARY      AND     DOMESTIC     LIFE. 

1827-'29. 

0>t:  who  knew  my  fatlier  well,  said,  "That  in  the  multiform 
nature  of  the  man,  his  mastery  over  the  hearts  of  ingeneous  youth 
was  one  of  his  finest  cliaracteristics.  An  essay  or  poem  is  submitted 
to  him  by  some  worthy  young  man,  he  docs  not  like  it,  and  says  so 
in  general  terms.  The  youth  is  not  satisfied,  and,  in  the  tone  of  one 
rather  injured,  begs  to  know  specific  fiults.  The  generous  aristarch, 
never  dealing  haughtily  with  young  worth,  instantly  sits  down,  and 
begins  by  conveying,  in  the  most  fearless  terms  of  praise,  his  sense 
of  tliat  worth ;  but,  this  done,  woe  be  to  the  luckless  piece  of  prose 
or  numerous  verse  !  Down  goes  the  scalpel  with  the  most  miimte 
savagery  of  dissection,  and  the  whole  tissues  and  ramifications  of 
fault  are  laid  naked  and  bare.  The  young  man  is  astonished,  but 
his  nature  is  of  the  right  sort ;  he  never  forgets  the  lesson,  and,  with 
bands  of  filial  aftection  stronger  than  hooks  of  steel,  he  is  knit  for 
life  to  the  man  who  has  dealt  with  him  thus.  Many  a  young  heart 
will  recognize  the  peculiar  style  of  the  great  nature  I  speak  of.  This 
service  was  once  done  to  Delta  ;  he  was  the  young  man  to  profit  by 
it,  and  the  friendship  was  all  the  firmer."*  Mr.  Aird  probably 
alludes  to  the  following  letter,  written  by  Professor  Wilson  in  Jan- 
>'ary,  1827,  to  his  friend  Dr.  Moir  : — 

"My  dear  Sir: — Allow  me  to  write  you  a  kind  letter,  sug 
gested  by  the  non-hisertion  of  your  Christmas  verses  in  the  last 
number  of  '  Maga' — a  letter  occasioned  rather  than  caused  by  that 
circumstance — for  I  have  often  wished  to  tell  you  my  mind  about 
yourself  and  your  poetry. 

"  I  thhik  you — and  I  have  no  doubt  about  the  soundness  of  m  v 
opinion — one  of  the  most  delightful  poets  of  this  age.  You  have 
not,  it  is  true,  written  any  one  great  work,  and,  perhaps,  like  my- 
self, never  will ;  but  you  have  written  very  many  exquisitely  beau- 
tiful poems  which,  as  time  rolls  on,  will  be  finding  their  way  into 

*  Thomas  Aire's  Memoir  of  D.  M.  Moir. 


300  MliMOIR   OF   JOHN    AVILSON. 

the  niiiidful  hearts  of  thousands,  and  becoming  embodied  with  the 
corj)us  of  true  Enijlish  poetry.  The  cliaracter  and  tlie  fame  of  many 
of  our  linest  writers  are  of  this  kind.  For  myself,  I  should  desire  no 
other — in  some  manner  I  hope  they  are  mine  ;  yours  they  certainly 
are,  and  will  be  more  and  more  as  tlie  days  and  years  proceed. 

"Hitherto,  I  have  not  said  as  much  as  this  of  you  publicly,  and 
for  several  good  reasons.  I^irsf.  It  is  best  and  kindest  to  confer 
praise* after  it  is  unquestionably  due.  /Secondly.  You,  like  myseir, 
are  too  much  connected  with  the  Magazine  to  be  praised  in  it,  ex- 
cept when  the  occasion  either  demands  it  or  entirely  justifies  it. 
TJiirdly.  Genevieve  is  not  my  favorite  poem,  because  the  subject  io 
essentially  non-tragic  to  my  imagination^  finely  as  it  is  written. 
Fourthly.  I  shall,  and  that,  too,  right  early,  speak  of  you  as  you 
ought  to  be  spoken  of,  because  the  time  has  come  when  that  can  be 
done  rightfully  and  gracefully.  Fifthly.  I  will  do  so  when  I  feel 
the  proi)er  time  has  come  ;  and,  lastly,  As  often  as  I  feel  incUned, 
which  may  be  not  unfrequent.  I  love  to  see  genius  getting  its  due ; 
and,  although  your  volume  has  not  sold  extensively,  you  are  not- 
withstanding a  popular  and  an  admired  writer. 

"  Having  said  this  much  conscientiously,  and  from  the  heart,  I 
now  beg  leave  to  revert  to  a  matter  of  little  importance,  surely,  in 
itself,  but  of  some  importance  to  me  and  my  feelings,  since,  un- 
luckily, it  has  rather  hurt  yours,  and  that  too,  not  unnaturally  or 
unreasonably,  for  I,  too,  have  been  a  rejected  contributor.  In  one 
respect  you  have  altogether  misconceived  Mr.  Blackwood's  letter,  or 
he  has  altogether  misconceived  the  very  fcAV  words  I  said  about  the 
article.  I  made  no  comparison  whatever  between  it  and  any  other 
article  of  the  kind  in  'Maga,'  either  written  by  you  or  by  any  one 
else.  But  I  said  that  the  Beppo  or  Whistlecraft  measure  had  be- 
come so  common,  that  its  sound  was  to  me  intolerable,  unless  it  was 
executed  in  a  transcendent  style,  like  many  of  Mr.  Lockhart's  stan- 
zas in  the  Mad  Banker  of  Amsterdam,  which,  in  my  opinion,  are 
equal  to  any  thing  in  Byron  himself.  Your  composition,  I  frankly 
and  freely  say  now,  will  not,  in  my  opinion,  bear  comparison,  for 
strength  and  variety,  with  that  alluded  to.  I  said  further,  that 
there  had  been  poems,  and  good  ones  too,  without  end,  and  also  in 
magazines,  in  that  measure  ;  that  it  had,  for  a  year  or  so,  been  al- 
lowed to  cease,  and  that  I  wished  not  to  see  its  revival,  except  in 
Bome  most  potent  form  indeed.      That  is  all  I  said  to  Mr.  Black- 


LITKUAKY    ^\Nb    DOMi.STIU    LIFE.  301 

wood.  I  will  now  say,  further,  in  defence  or  explanation  of  the  ad- 
vice I  gave  him,  that  the  composition  is  not,  in  my  opinion,  pecu- 
liarly and  chaiacteristically  Cliristoplierisli^  and  therefore,  with  all 
its  merit,  would  not  have  greatly  delighted  the  readers  of  'Maga' 
at  the  beginning  of  a  new  year.  Secondly.  The  topics  are  not  such 
as  Christopher,  on  looking  back  for  two  or  three  years,  could  have 
selected,  and  many  important  ones  are  not  alluded  to  at  all.  That 
to  me  is  a  fatal  objection.  Thirdly.  There  are  occasional  allusions 
that  are  rather  out  of  time  and  place,  and  seem  to  have  been — as  I 
believe  they  were — written,  not  lately,  but  a  good  while  ago.  So 
that  I  do  not  now,  as  I  did  not  theti,  think  it  a  composition  that 
would  have  graced  and  dignified  a  new  year's  number,  preceding 
all  other  articles,  as  a  sort  of  manifesto  from  the  pen  of  C.  N.,  and 
this,  partly  from  its  not  being  very  like  him  in  style,  but  chiefly 
from  its  being  very  unlike  him  in  topics. 

"  Having  said  so  nmch,  I  will  venture  to  say  a  little  more,  well 
knowing  that  my  criticism  will  not  oftend,  even  although  it  may  not 
convince.*  Of  the  first  four  stanzas,  the  first  is  to  me  beautiful,  the 
second  moderately  good,  the  third,  absolutely  bad,  and  the  fourth, 
not  very  happy,  Irving  and  Rowland  Hill  being  better  out  of 
Korth's  mind  altogether  on  a  Christmas  occasion.  The  nineteenth 
stanza  is,  I  think,  very  bad  indeed,  no  meaning  being  intended,  and 
the  expression  being  cumbrous  and  far  from  ingenious.  Twentieth 
stanza  I  see  no  merit  in  at  all,  nor  do  I  understand  it,  I  hope,  for  I 
trust  there  is  more  meaning  in  it  than  meets  my  ear.  Jeffrey's  ago 
was  a  bad  joke  at  the  first,  worse  when  repeated  in  a  Christmas 
Carol  for  1827-28.  The  v.'hole  stanza  displeases  me  much.  Twen- 
ty-four is  pretty  well,  but  by  no  means  equal  to  what  would  have 
been  the  view-holloa  of  old  C.  N.  on  first  tally-hoing  a  "Whig.  The 
last  line  of  it  does  not  tell,  or  point  to  any  one  person  ;  if  so,  not 
distinctly.  Twenty-fifth  contains  a  repetition  of  what  has  been 
many  thousand  times  repeated  in  '  Maga,'  usque  ad  nauseam,  by 
that  eternal  Londoner  from  Yorkshire,  and  wants  the  free  freshness 
with  which  C.  N.  would  have  breathed  out  himself  on  such  a  tojnc, 
if  at  all.  Perhaps  I  dislike  twenty-eighth  stanza,  because  I  am  by 
no  means  sure  of  its  political  econoniy,  and  never  can  join  in  the  cry 

*  Tl'Pn  follows  a  minute  criticism  of  the  poem,  stanza  by  stanza,  too  detailed  to  be  jriven  entira 
A  few  touches  may  sullice,  indicatins  that  in  politics  the  extreme  opinions  of  Christopher  Nortl^ 
H&  expressed  in  Blackwood,  were  not  always  those  of  John  AVilson. 


302  MEMOIR    OF   JOHN    "WILSOX. 

in  tlie  Magazine  against  free  trade.  Twenty-ninth  stanza  is  neither 
good  nor  bad  perhaps,  but  it  leans  towards  the  latter.  Thirty-third 
is  written,  I  fear,  in  the  same  vein  with  mucli  of  our  enemies'  abuse 
agauist  us.  Thirty-fourth  opens  inefficiently  with  Eldon.  He  is  a 
liue  old  fellow,  but  in  some  things  a  bigot,  and  getting  very  old  ; 
yet  I  love  and  respect  him,  as  you  do.  Still  this,  and  stanzas  thir- 
ty-fifth, thirty-sixth,  and  thirty-seventh  are  not  glorious,  and  free, 
and  exulting,  but  the  contrary,  and  the  list  of  our  friends  is  too 
scanty.  Thirty-sixth  is  unworthy  of  Sir  Walter,  r.nd  A,  and  C.  N., 
and  J.  "NV.  Pardon  me  for  saying  so.  In  stanza  fortieth  I  did  not 
expect  any  thing  more  about  Time,  and  be  damned  to  him !  All 
the  stanzas  that  follow  to  forty-sixth,  inclusive,  are  excellent,  and  in 
themselves  worthy  of  A.  But  what  if  there  be  no  snow  and  no 
skating  at  Christmas  ?  No  appearance  of  it  at  present.  Besides, 
in  such  an  address,  they  are  too  numerous.  Forty-seventh,  forty- 
eighth,  and  forty-ninth  are  feeble  in  the  extreme  ;  and  the  recipe 
for  hot-pint,  althougli  correct,  especially  so. 

"Finally,  the  composition,  as  a  whole,  is  of  a  very  mediocre 
character,  in  the  opinion  of  your  kind  friend  and  most  sincere 
admirer.  Professor  Wilson. 

"  I  have  never,  in  the  whole  course  of  my  life,  given  an  opinion 
in  writing  more  than  three  lines  long,  of  any  composition  of  any 
man,  whom  I  did  not  know  to  be  a  man  of  genius  and  talents. 
I  have  given  you  this  long,  scrawling,  imperfectly  expressed  opinion 
of  your  verses,  because  I  had  already  let  you  know  that  it  M'as 
unfavorable,  and  therefore  there  is  no  impertinence  in  giving  some 
of  the  reasons  of  my  belief 

"That  you  should  agree  with  me  wholly  is  not  to  be  expected; 
but  that  you  will  agree  with  me  partly,  I  have  no  doubt,  by  and 
by.  I  say  so  from  experience,  for  I  have  often  and  often  seen,  all 
at  once,  compositions  of  my  own  to  be  good  for  little  or  nothing, 
which  I  had  at  the  time  of  writing  them  thought  well  of,  and  even 
admired. 

"  One  thing  I  knoxc  you  are  wrong  in,  and  that  is  in  your  pre- 
ferring this  composition  to  all  you  ever  wrote  for  '  Maga.'  You 
have  written  for  'Maga'  many  of  the  most  delightful  verses  that  are 
in  the  English  language,  and  as  for  '  Mansie  Waugh,'*  it  is  hiimitable, 

*  The  Life  of  Mansie  Waugli,  TnUor  in  Dalkeith.    12nio.    Edinburgh,  182S.     A  work  filD 
of  humor,  and  iiboiiiuliiig  in  faithful  sl^cichcs  uf  Scottish  life  ani'  mano'irs. 


LITEKAKY    AND    DOMESTIC    LITE.  303 

and  better  than  Gait's  very  best.  That  it  should  have  stopped — i  f  t  he 
fault  of  Mr,  Blackwood — is  to  me  inexplicable  and  very  displeasing, 
iind  I  have  more  than  once  said  so  to  hiin,  for  nothing  belter  ever 
was  in  '  Maga'  since  she  was  born.  Mr.  Blackwood  certainly 
thought  the  rejected  composition  a  good  one,  and  it  was  owing  to 
me  that  it  was  rejected.  I  take  that  on  my  own  head.  But  that 
'  Mansie  Waugh'  should  be  stopped,  is  to  me  disgusting,  because 
it  was  stopped  in  my  teetli,  and  in  yours  who  have  the  glory  of  it. 

"Let  me  conclude  with  the  assurance  of  my  esteem  for  you,  my 
dear  sir,  no  less  as  a  man  than  an  author.  I  am  happy  to  know  that 
you  are  universally  esteemed  where  you  would  wish  to  be,  in  your 
profession,  and  in  your  private  character,  and  that  your  poetical 
faculty  has  done  you  no  harm,  but  on  the  contrary  great  good. 

"  I  wish  you  would  dine  with  us  on  Saturday  at  six  o'clock.  I 
expect  De  Quincey,  and  one  or  two  other  friends,  and  there  is  a 
hed  for  yoM,  otherwise  I  Avould  not  ask  you  at  so  late  an  hour. 

"  I  am  yours  aft'ectionately,  Joiix  "Wilson." 

With  the  above  exception,  the  memorials  of  this  year  are  con- 
fined to  the  pages  of  Blackwood.,  to  M'hich  he  contributed  in  one 
month  (June),  when  a  double  number  was  published,  six  of  the 
principal  articles.  How  little  he  thought  of  knocking  oft'  a  Noctes 
when  in  the  humor,  may  be  judged  from  a  note  to  Mr.  Ballantyne, 
the  printer,  in  which  he  says : — "  I  think  of  trying  to-day  and 
to-morrow  to  write  a  '  Noctes.'  "Would  you  have  any  olrjec- 
tion  to  be  introduced  as  a  member?  Would  your  brother?  Of 
coin-se  I  need  not  say,  that,  with  a  little  fun,  I  shall  represent  you 
both  in  the  kindest  feeling.     Pray  let  me  know. 

"  Yours  very  truly,  John  Wilson. 

"  Subject: — A  party  are  to  assemble  in  the  JVeio  Shojy  to  dinner." 

The  following  note  to  the  same  gentleman  may  come  in  as  a 
minor  illustration  of  the  "calamities  cf  authors:" — 

"  Last  night  ahotct  eleven  o'clock,  I  got  two  proofs  to  correct, 
which  took  me  nearly  three  hows.  I  ordered  the  boy,  therefore, 
to  go  away,  and  come  early  in  the  morning.  It  is  exactly  half-past 
eight,  and  I  have  had  the  luxury  of  three  hours'  work  after  sup|)er 
for  no  end  whatever,  instead  of  indulging  in  it  before  l)!eakfast. 


304  MliMOIR   OF    JOHN    WILSON. 

Yet  to  get  on  is,  1  umlerstand,  of  great  importance.  Here,  tliea, 
are  hours  on  hours  lost,  not  hy  me  assurcilly ;  then  by  whom  ? 

"Why  the  devil  does  not  the  devil  hasten  iiimself  of  an  August 
morning?  What  right  can  any  devil,  red-hot  from  Tartarus,  have 
to  disturb  me,  Avho  never  injured  liim,  for  three  longlionrs  including 
midnight,  all  for  no  purpose  hut  to  make  me  miserable  ? 

"I  am,  my  dear  sir,  very  wroth;  therefore,  see  henceforth,  that 
delays  of  this  kind  do  not  occur,  for  though  I  am  willing  to  work 
when  necessary,  I  am  not  willing  to  sacrifice  sleep,  and  sometimes 
suffer,  which  is  worse,  from  want  of  arrangement  or  idleness  in  the 
infernal  regions.  Yours  sincerely, 

"  JOHX  WiLSOX. 

"  Thursday  morning. — With  two  corrected  proofs  lying  before 
me  for  several  hours  needlessly  at  a  time  when  they  are  most  wanted 
in  the  Shades." 

In  the  month  of  July  of  this  year,  my  mother  writes  to  her 
sister : — 

"We  are  all  quite  well,  and  looking  forward  to  a  few  weeks'  stay 
on  the  banks  of  the  Tweed  with  great  pleasure.  I  forget  whether 
I  mentioned  when  I  last  wrote  to  you  that  Mr.  Wilson  had  taken 
lodgings  at  Innerleithen  (about  six  miles  fiom  Peebles).  We  go 
on  the  2d  of  August,  the  day  after  the  boys'  vacation  commences. 

"Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lockhart  and  their  two  children  are  come  here 
this  summer,  I  am  sorry  to  say  the  latter  in  search  of  health.  Mr. 
L.  is  looking  well,  and  not  a  bit  changed  in  any  respect. 

"  Ebony  has  presented  me  with  the  Life  of  Kapoleoti,  9  vols. ; 
everybody  is  now  devouring  it,  but  what  is  thought  of  it  I  have 
not  heard;  it  will  last  me  some  years  to  get  tlirough  it  if  I  live; 
at  least,  if  I  read  at  my  customary  pace." 

The  three  autumnal  months  were  spent  at  Innerleithen,  the  Pro- 
fessor visiting  Edinburgh  from  time  to  time,  to  attend  to  his  literary 
affairs,  finding  on  his  return  relaxation  in  his  favorite  amusement 
of  fisliing,  or  rambhng  over  the  hills  to  St.  Mary's  Loch,  and  not 
unfrequently  spending  a  day  at  Altrivc  with  tlie  P^ttrick  Shepherd. 
He  had  intended,  in  the  following  year,  to  let  Elleray ;  but  not 
having  found  a  suitable  tenant,  he  spent  the  autumn  there  Iiimself 
with  his  family. 

From  a  letter  to  his  friend,  the  Kev.  Mr.  Fleming  of  Rayrig, 


LITEKARY    AND    DOMESTIC    LU'E.  305 

■written  in  the  spring  of  1828,  it  a^  ill  be  seen  how  fondly  h."  clung 
to  the  place,  after  having  made  up  his  mind  as  a  matter  of  duty  to 
sacrifice  the  pleasure  of  spending  his  suniiners  there.  Ivcferi  ing  in 
this  letter  to  the  Miigazine,  he  says: — 

"  Of  Blaekv)oocV s  Magazine  I  am  not  the  editor,  although,  I  be- 
lieve, I  very  generally  get  both  the  credit  and  discredit  of  being 
Christopher  North.  I  am  one  of  the  chief  writers,  ])erhnps  the 
chief,  and  have  all  along  been  so,  but  never  received  one  sliilling 
from  the  proprietor,  except  for  my  own  compositions.  Being  gen- 
erally on  the  spot,  I  am  always  willing  to  give  hiiri  my  advice,  and 
to  supply  such  articles  as  may  be  most  wanted  when  I  have  leisure 
to  do  so.  But  I  hold  myself  answerable  to  the  public  only  for  my 
own  articles,  although  I  have  never  chosen  to  say,  nor  shall  I  ever, 
that  I  am  not  editor,  as  that  might  appear  to  be  shying  responsi- 
bility, or  disclaiming  my  real  share  in  the  work.  To  you,  however, 
I  make  the  avowal,  which  is  to  the  letter  correct,  of  Christopher 
North's  ideal  character.  I  am  in  a  great  measui'e  the  jiarent  never- 
theless, nor  am  I  ashamed  of  the  old  gentleman,  who  is,  tliough 
rather  perverse,  a  thriving  bairn. 

"I  shall  be  at  Elleray,  with  my  daughters  Margaret  and  Mary, 
about  the  18th  or  20th  of  April,  and  hope  to  stay  a  month.  I  in- 
tend to  let  P]l]eray,  if  I  can  get  a  suitable  tenant,  for  t}^ree  years. 
My  children  are  all  just  growing  up,  and  I  cannot  remove  them 
from  Edinburgh,  nor  can  I  leave  them,  even  if  the  ex{)ense  of  hav- 
ing two  houses  wei-e  such  as  I  could  prudently  encounter.  I  have 
therefore  brought  my  mind  to  make  the  saciifice  of  my  summers, 
nowhere  else  so  hapi)y  as  on  the  banks  of  beautiful  and  beloved 
Windermere.  My  visit  is  cliielly  to  make  arrangements  for  letting 
Elleray  during  the  period  now  mentioned. 

"I  feel  great  delicacy  in  asking  any  questions  of  a  friend  relative 
to  concerns  of  his  friends.  But  I  hope  you  will  not  think  me 
guilty  of  indelicacy  in  writing  to  know  on  what  terms  Bellfield  was 
let  to  Mr.  Thomson.  I  am  wholly  at  a  loss  to  know  what  to  ask 
for  Elleray,  and  Bellfield  would  be  a  rule  to  go  by  in  fixing  the 
rent.  I  am  anxious  you  will  do  me  the  justice  to  think  that  I  am 
one  of  the  last  men  in  the  world  to  seek  to  know  any  thing  of  the 
kind,  except  in  the  case  like  the  pi  esent,  where  it  would  be  of  ad- 
vantage to  my  interests  and  that  of  iny  lamily;    or  if  there  be  auy 


300  MEMOIR   OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

objection  to  your  iuforniing  me  of  the  point,  perhaps  you  would 
have  the  goodness  to  give  me  your  opinion  of  what  might  be  the 
annual  rent  of  the  house,  garden,  and  outhouses  of  Elleray.  Who- 
ever takes  it  must  keep  tlie  place  in  order,  and  therefore  must  keep 
on  my  gardener  on  his  present  wages.  The  land  I  could  either  keep 
myself,  or  let  it  along  with  the  house,  the  whole  or  in  part. 

'•3Jr.   would  act  for  me,  I  know,  but   ,  hke  other  idle 

people,  is  too  free  of  his  tongue  about  my  intentions,  of  whicli  he 
knows  nothing,  and  has  been  busy  telling  all  people  that  I  am  never 
again  to  return  to  Elleray,  and  that  Elleray  is  to  be  sold.     This 

rather  displeases  me.     Mr. would  oblige  me  in  any  thing,  but 

is  not  very  skilled  in  character,  and.  might,  I  fear,  be  imposed  upon 
if  he  met  with  people  wishing  to  impose.  The  idea  of  making  Mr. 
Fleming  useful  to  me  has  something  in  it  abhorrent  to  my  miture. 
Do,  however,  my  dear  sir,  forgive  my  natural  anxiety-  on  this  point, 
for  if  I  should  let  Elleray  to  a  family  that  would  injure  it,  it  would 
make  me  truly  unhappy.  I  love  it  as  I  love  life  itself;  and,  in  case 
I  leave  Elleray  unlet,  in  your  hands  I  would  feel  that  it  was  as  safe 
as  in  my  own.  I  am,  however,  I  repeat  it,  duly  sensible  of  the  deli- 
cacy of  making  such  a  request  to  such  a  friend ;  and  one  word  will 
be  sufficient.  My  intention  is  to  keep  the  cottage  in  my  own  hands, 
with  the  privilege  to  inhabit  it  myself  if  I  choose  for  a  month  or 
two,  which  will  be  the  utmost  in  my  power ;  although  that  privi- 
lege I  will  give  up  if  necessary. 

"  Mrs.  Wilson  is  much  better  in  her  general  health  than  she  has 
been  since  her  first  unhappy  illness  ;  but  is  still  far  from  being  well, 
and  my  anxieties  are  still  great.  I  am,  however,  relieved  fi'om  the 
most  dreadful  of  all  fears,  and  I  trust  in  God  that  the  fits  wiL^  not 
again  return.  Her  constitution  would  seem  to  have  outlived  them, 
but  they  have  been  of  a  most  heart-breaking  kind,  and  I  look  on  all 
life  as  under  the  darkness  of  a  shadow.  John,  my  eldest  boy,  is 
five  feet  ten  inches  tall,  and  goes  to  College  next  winter.  My 
daughters  you  will,  I  hope,  see  soon,  and  yours  must  come  -up  to 
Elleray  and  stay  a  day  or  two  with  them,  while  they  will  be  bu^ 
too  hapjjy  to  be  again  at  sweet  Kayrig.  I  hear  of  a  house  having 
been  built  below  Elleray  by  Mr.  Gardiner.  I  hope  it  is  not  an  eye- 
sore. If  it  be,  my  eyes,  I  am  sorry  to  state,  will  not  be  often 
ofll'nded  by  it  for  some  years  to  come.  A  curious  enough  book  on 
transplanting  trees  has  been  published  here  lately,  which  I  will 


LTTKRAKY    ANT)    DOJrKSTIC    I.IVR.  3(")7 

bring  you  a  copy  of.  Sir  Henry  Stewart,  the  author,  has  made  a 
place  well  wooded  and  thriving  out  of  a  desert,  and  has  removed 
hundreds  of  trees  of  all  kinds,  from  twenty  to  fifty  years  old,  with 
underwood,  all  of  which  have  for  years  been  in  a  most  flourishing 
condition. 

"  I  think  you  will  get  this  letter  on  Sunday  morning.  I  shall 
think  of  you  all  m  church.     Your  affectionate  friend, 

"  John  Wilsox." 

As  soon  as  his  college  duties  were  over,  he  set  out  for  EUeray. 
He  Avrites  from  Bowness  to  my  mother,  May  16,  1828 :  — 

"  My  dear  Turkess  : — I  have  this  morning  received  your  long  and 
kind  letter ;  and  though  I  wrote  to  you  yesterday,  I  do  so  again. 
First,  then,  I  enclose  a  t\velve-])Ound  note,  which,  I  hope,  will  set- 
tle the  accounts,  though  you  don't  mention  the  amount  of  the  ren- 
dering one.  I  will  thank  you  to  write  to  Robert  as  follows: — 
'  Dear  Robert,  be  so  good  as  send  to  me  the  ten-pound  receipt  to 
sign,  if  convenient,  and  I  will  return  it  by  post.  Jane  is  to  tell  you 
to  do  so,  to  save  you  a  postage.  If  you  can  give  her  the  money 
first  it  will  be  convenient ;  if  not,  she  will  wait  till  I  return  the  pa- 
per. Yours,  J.  W.'  Your  taste  in  furniture  is  excellent,  being  the 
same  as  my  own-;  so  choose  a  pai)er  of  a  bluish  sort,  and  don't 
doubt  that  I  will  like  the  room  the  better  for  its  being  cntii'ely 
your  taste,  carpet  and  all.  Johnny  may  go  to  the  fishing  wlienever 
you  think  it  safe ;  but  remember  wet  feet  are  dangerous  to  him  at 
present.  If  he  goes,  tell  him  to  go  and  come  by  the  coach,  and 
give  him  stockings  to  put  on  dry.  To  fish  there  with  dry  ^eet  is 
not  possible ;  and  he  is  not  strong  yet.  Send  him  to  school,  with  a 
note  saying  it  was  but  an  eruption,  for  I  cannot  think  it  was  the 
small-pox.  If  it  was,  he  is  cured  now.  I  hope  they  are  good  boys. 
God  bless  them  both,  Umbs,  and  their  good  mother ! 

"  Yesterday,  we  rode  to  Ambleside — Mary  on  Blair's  pony,  which 
is  in  high  health  and  very  quiet,  and  spirited  too,  Maggie  on  the 
nondescript.  We  called  mi  the  Lutwidges,  whom  we  saw.  Thev 
are  all  well — she  looking  very  beautiful,  and  in  the  family-way  of 
course.  Oil  the  Edmunds,  too.  We  called  on  the  Norths,  and 
were  most  kindly  rec^'ived.  I  left  the  girls  there,  and  proceeded 
to  Grasmere,  along  the  new  road  by  the  lake-side,  which  is  beauti- 
ful.    Found  llaitley  Coleridge,  a  little  tipsy,  I  fear,  but  not  very 


308  M13I0IR   OF   J0I1^    WILSON. 

much  ;  -went  with  him  to  Sammy  Barber's.  Sammy  was  delighted 
to  see  me.  He  has  um'oofeJ  his  house,  and  is  raising  it  several 
feet.  He  has  built  a  bed-room  for  himself,  thirty  feet  long,  by 
twenty  wide,  with  two  firejjlaces,  and  one  enormous  window  com- 
manding a  view  of  the  whole  lake.  It  is  the  most  beautiful  room  I 
ever  saw.  All  the  rest  of  the  house  is  equally  good,  and  still  the 
external  look  improved. 

"  Wordsworth  is  iu  London.  I  called  for  the  nymphs  at  eight 
o'clock,  and  we  reached  Elleray  about  ten  o'clock — all  well.  Both 
nymphs  are  recovered,  though  Mary  has  still  a  little  sore-throat 
left.  To-day,  we  have  waked  to  Bowness,  and  made  some  calls. 
We  visited  the  Island,  and  Miss  Curwen  comes  to  Elleray  next 
Wednesday  to  stay  all  night.  She  is  a  sweet  girl,  modest,  sensible, 
amiable,  and  English.  They  are  a  worthy  family.  The  girls  are 
just  now  gone  on  to  Rayrig  with  Miss  Taylor,  and  I  shall  join  them 
there.  I  wait  behind  to  write  to  the  Turkess.  The  country  now 
is  in  perfect  beauty  ;  and  I  think  of  one  who  has  been  a  kind,  and 
affectionate,  and  good  wife  to  me  at  all  hours.  If  I  do  not,  may  the 
beauty  of  nature  pass  away  from  my  eyes!  To-morrow  we  dine  at 
Calgarth.  On  Tuesday  next,  Sammy  Barber  and  H.  Coleridge 
dine  with  us.  Xeither  Wellock  nor  M'Xeil  has  appeared,  and  1 
shall  wait  for  them  no  uiore.  Captain  Hope  and  his  lady  and  a 
piccaninny  have  just  driven  up  to  the  door  of  the  inn  ;  he  is  a  son  of 
the  Lord  President's,  and  brother  of  the  Solicitor-General,  and  a 
friend  of  mine.  They  are  just  off  again.  Write  as  soon  as  you  can 
or  choose,  and  tell  Johnny  or  Blair  to  write  too — a  conjoint  letter. 
Once  more,  love  to  you  all.     Your  affectionate  husband, 

"John  Wilsox." 

The  following  letters  show  how  well  he  knew  to  adapt  his  com 
munications  to  the  taste  of  his  correspondents : — 

TO  HIS  SOX  BLAIR. 

"Elleray,  Friday  Afternoon,  May  23,  1828. 
"  My  deauest  Blair  : — Your  very  entertaining  and  witty  letter 
came  in  due  course  at  the  breakfast  hour,  and  made  us  all  laugii  till 
we  were  like  to  burst  our  sides ;  and  Mary  had  very  nearly  broken 
a  tea-cup.  It  was,  however,  rather  impertinent.  Your  pony  is  in 
capital  health  and  spirits,  and  3Iary  rides  him  very  gently  and  not 


LITKRAUY    AND    DOMESTIC    LIKK.  309 

too  fast.  Maggy  rides  a  chestnut  cow,  wliich  George  declares  is  a 
horse,  and  it  certainly  is  rather  like  one  sometimes.  There  are  two 
cats,  both  very  tame — a  black,  and  a  white  one  with  a  red  tail.  1 
fear  the  latter  kills  small  birds.  The  young  thrushes  have  tlown, 
and  so  have  a  nest  of  linnets  in  the  front  of  the  house.  The  thrush 
is  building  again  in  another  place.  We  had  a  gooseberry-tart  yes- 
terday, which  you  would  have  liked  very  much.  On  Saturday,  Ave 
dined  at  Calgarth,  and  found  all  the  people  there  exceedingly  well 
and  happy.  On  Sunday  we  went  to  church,  and  dined  at  home. 
On  Monday  we  also  dined  at  home ;  and  on  Tuesday,  Hartley  Cole- 
ridge came  to  dine  with  us,  without  Mrs.  Barlow,  who  was  ill.  On 
Wednesday  we  all  dined  at  home ;  and  yesterday  Fletcher  Flem- 
ing and  Mr.  Ilariison  from  Ambleside  dined  with  us.  To-day  we 
are  all  going  to  drink  tea  w  iUi  Miss  Taylor  at  Bowness,  and  to  go 
to  a  children's  ball  in  the  evening.  Hartley  Coleridge  is  still  with 
us,  and  sends  his  love  to  your  mannna  and  all  yourselves.  To-mor- 
row we  are  going  down  to  Penny  Bridge,  and  will  return  on  Mon- 
day or  Tuesday.  On  We<lnesday,  which  is  Ambleside  Fair,  I  am 
going  there.  On  Thursday,  there  is  to  be  wrestling  there.  On 
Friday,  Mr.  Garnet  gives  us  a  dinner;  and  after  that  we  shall  be 
thinking  of  coming  home  again  pretty  soon.  I  am  hai)py  to  hear 
you  and  Johnny  are  good  boys.  Tell  Johnny  I  am  very  angiy 
with  him  for  not  writing.  Tell  mamma  that  I  like  the  paper ;  and 
got  her  last  letter  this  morning.  God  bless  her,  and  you,  and 
Johnny,  and  Umbs,  and  keep  you  all  well  and  happy  till  we  return. 
Love,  too,  to  Miss  Penny,  that  is.  Aunt  Mary;  and  kind  compli- 
ments to  Mrs.  Alison.  I  will  write  to  mamma  from  I'eiiny  Bridge. 
I  am,  my  dear  little  boy,  your  most  loving  and  affectionate  father, 

"The  Old  Max." 

TO  HIS  SON  JOHN. 

"  Elleuay,  Monday  Afternoon,  June  2,  1828. 
"My  dear  Johnny: — I  received  your  letter  this  morning,  from 
which  I  find  you  are  well,  and  in  good  spirits.  I  am  satisfied  with 
your  place  in  the  Academy,  which  I  hope  you  will  keep  till  the  end, 
or  rather  steal  up  a  little.  I  presume  ^Ir.  Gumi  intends  going  on 
the  stage.  We  left  Penny  Bridge  on  Tuesday,  and  dined  at  the 
Island  with  a  large  party.  On  Wednesday,  I  went  to  Ambleside 
fair,  and  settled  a  few  bills.     Kichard  Sowdeii  <lined  \\  ith  me  at 


S!r»  MEMOIR    OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

Elleray  on  that  day,  and  kept  furnisliing  me  with  his  talk  till  ov 
o'clock  in  the  morning — the  girls  being  at  the  Mi-^s  Bartons'.  On 
Thursday,  I  went  again  to  Ambleside,  with  William  and  George 
Fleming,  to  see  the  wrestling.  It  was  very  good.  A  man  from 
Cumberland,  with  a  white  hat  and  brown  shirt,  threatened  to  tling 
everybody,  and  'foight'  them  afterwards.  The  'foighting'  I  put  a 
stop  to.  He  stood  till  the  last,  but  was  thrown  by  a  schoolmaster 
of  the  name  of  Robinson,  cousin  to  the  imp  who  used  to  be  at  Elle- 
ray, who  won  the  belt  with  a  handsome  inscription — 'From  Profes- 
sor "Wilson.'  We  had  then  a  number  of  single  matches,  the  best  of 
three  throws ;  and  Collinson  of  Bowness  threw  Robinson  easily,  he 
himself  having  been  previously  thrown  by  the  Cumbrian  for  the 
belt.  One  Drunky,  who  had  also  been  thrown  for  the  belt,  then 
threw  Collinson,  and  a  tailor  called  Holmes  threw  Cumberland.  A 
little  fellow  about  the  size  of  Blair,  or  less,  threw  a  man  about  six 
feet  high,  and  fell  upon  him  with  all  his  weight.  Holmes,  the 
tailor,  threw  Rowland  Long.  The  wrestling,  on  the  whole,  '  gave 
the  fomily  great  delight.'  On  Friday,  we  all  sailed  with  Captain 
Stamp  in  the  '  Emma,'  and  ran  aground  at  the  water-head,  but  got 
off  in  about  an  hour  without  damage.  The  'Emma'  is  an  excellent, 
safe,  roomy  boat,  and  draws  more  water  than  the  '  Endeavor.'  On 
the  same  Friday,  we  dined  with  William  Garnet,  and  at  tea  mef, 
some  young  ladies,  the  Miss  Winyards,  and  Lady  Pasley.  We 
rode  home  in  the  dark  and  the  wet.  On  Saturday  we  gave  a  party 
in  the  evening  to  the  Flemings,  Bellasses,  and  Miss  A.  Taylor  from 
Ambleside.  We  had  the  band,  and  danced,  and  the  party  was 
pleasant.  On  Sunday  we  stayed  at  home,  the  day  being  blowy  ; 
and  Miss  A.  Taylor  is  still  with  us.  To-day  some  gentlemen  dined 
at  Elleray ;  so  you  see  we  are  very  gay.  To-morrow  we  are  all 
going  a  pic-nicking  on  the  Lake.  God  bless  you,  my  dear  Johnny ! 
Mind  all  your  dear  mother  says,  and  be  kind  in  all  things,  and  at- 
tentive to  her  till  we  return.  Love  to  Blair  and  Umb;^.  Your 
affectionate  father,  JoHX  Wilson. 

"  The  cross  lines  ai-e  for  your  mamma." 

"My  dearest  Jane: — I  intend  riding  into  Kendal  on  Wednes- 
day, to  meet  our  Edinl>urgh  friends,  as  it  will  be  satisfactory  to 
hear  how  you  all  are.  I  shall  be  kept  here  a  few  days  longer  than 
I  intended,  because  of  the  want  of  the  needful,  which  I  want  to 


LITERARY    AND    DOMESTIC    LIFP:.  311 

sponge  oat  of  Ebony,  I  shall  also  send  to  Robert  for  the  £10,  in 
case  you  have  not  got  it.  I  will  write  to  yon  on  Thursday,  lixiiig 
the  day  for  our  return,  The  girls  are  both  well,  and  eveiyl)ody  is 
kind  to  them.  They  are  just  gone  to  call  at  Calgarth,  with  Alicia 
Taylor  on  horseback,  with  John  Alexander  with  them  on  loot. 
Owen  Loyd,  and  Joseph  Harding,  and  some  others,  are  to  dine 
Avith  us  to-day.  Summer  is  come,  and  really  the  most  beautiful 
time  of  the  year  is  past.  Write  to  me  on  Sunday  evening^  foi'  we 
shall  not  leave  this  till  Tuesday,  at  the  earliest.  If  you  write  .he 
day  you  get  this,  too,  or  bid  Blair  do  so,  so  much  the  better,  for 
that  day  is  always  a  happy  one  on  which  I  hear  from  you.  You 
are  a  most  unaccountable  niggard.  Direct  Mr.  Hood's  letter  to  me 
here,  and  send  it  to  me  by  post.  Tell  Johnny  to  call  and  inquire 
for  Captain  Watson,  or  do  so  yourself,  my  dear  Jane,  lirst  good 
day.  I  am  glad  to  hear  such  good  accounts  of  him.  Keep  sending 
me  the  Observer  and  J^nenhif/  Post.  IMy  expectations  of  my  room 
are  very  high.  I  intend  to  get  John  Watson  to  give  me  a  head  of 
you,  to  hang  up  over  the  chinmey-piece.  What  think  you  of  that? 
The  little  man  does  not  sleep  well  here  by  himself  I  do  not  fear 
that  I  shall  find  you  well  and  happy.     Yours  till  death. 

"John  Wilson." 

The  allusions  to  Hartley  Coleridge  awaken  mingled  feelings  of 
pain  and  pleasure  in  remembrance  of  his  frequent  visits  to  Elleray, 
•where  he  Avas  ever  a  welcome  guest.  The  gentle,  humble-hearted, 
highly  gifted  man,  "  Dear  Hartley,"  as  my  father  called  him, 
dreamed  through  a  life  of  error,  loving  the  good  and  hating  the 
evil,  yet  unable  to  resist  it.  His  companionship  was  always  delight- 
ful to  the  Professor,  and  many  hours  of  converse  they  held ;  his 
best  and  hai)piest  moments  were  those  spent  at  P^lleray.  ]My  father 
had  a  great  power  over  him,  and  exerted  it  with  kind  but  lirm  de- 
termination. On  one  occasion  he  was  kept  imprisoned  for  some 
weeks  under  his  surveillance,  in  order  that  he  might  finish  some 
literary  work  he  had  i)romised  to  have  ready  by  a  certain  time.  He 
completed  his  task,  and  when  the  day  of  release  came,  it  was  not  in- 
tended that  he  should  leave  Elleray.  But  Hartley's  evil  demon  was 
at  hand ;  without  one  word  of  adieu  to  the  friends  in  whose  ))res- 
ence  he  stood,  off  he  ran  at  full  speed  down  the  avenue,  lost  to 
sight  amid  the  trees,  seen  again  in  the  open  highway  still  running, 


ol2  MEMOnj   OF   JOHN    WILSoX. 

until  tlie  sound  of  his  far-off  footsteps  gradually  died  away  in  the 
distance,  and  he  himself  was  hidden,  not  in  the  groves  of  the  valley 
hut  in  some  obscure  den,  where,  drinking  among  low  companions, 
his  mind  was  soon  brought  to  a  level  with  theirs.  Then  these 
clouds  would  after  a  time  pass  away,  and  he  again  returned  to  the 
society  of  those  who  could  appreciate  him,  aud  who  never  ceased 
to  love  him. 

Every  one  loved  Hartley  Coleridge  ;  there  was  something  in  his 
appearance  that  evoked  kindliness.  Extremely  boyish  hi  aspect, 
his  juvenile  air  was  aided  not  a  little  by  his  general  mode  of  dress — 
a  dark  blue  cloth  round  jacket,  white  trousers,  black  silk  handker- 
chief tied  loosely  round  his  throat ;  sometimes  a  straw  hat  covered 
his  head,  but  more  frequently  it  was  bare,  showing  his  black,  thick, 
short,  curling  hair.  His  eyes  were  large,  dark,  and  expressive,  an<l  a 
countenance  almost  sad  in  expi'ession,  was  relieved  by  the  beau.itul 
smile  which  lighted  it  up  from  time  to  time.  Th;i  tone  of  his  voice 
was  musically  soft.  He  excelled  in  reading,  and  very  often  read 
aloud  to  my  motlier.  The  contrast  betAveeu  him  and  tlie  Professor, 
as  they  walked  up  and  down  the  drawing  rooms  at  Eileray,  was 
very  striking.  Both  were  earnest  in  manner  and  peculiar  in  expres- 
sion. My  father's  rapid  sweeping  steps  would  soon  have  distanced 
poor  Hartley,  if  he  had  not  kept  up  to  him  by  a  sort  of  short  trot ; 
then,  standing  still  for  a  moment,  excited  by  some  question  of  |)hil- 
osophical  interest — jierhaps  the  madness  of  Hamlet,  or  whether  or 
not  he  was  a  perfect  gentlenuin — they  would  pour  forth  such  tor- 
rents of  eloquence  that  those  jiresent  would  have  wished  them  to 
speak  forever.  After  a  pause,  off  again  through  the  rooms,  back- 
■wards  and  forwards,  for  an  hour  at  a  time  would  they  walk ;  the 
Professors  athletic  form,  stately  and  free  in  action,  and  his  clear 
blue  eyes  and  flowing  hair,  contrasting  singuhvrly  with  Hartley's 
diminutive  stature  and  dark  complexion,  as  he  followed  like  some 
familiar  spirit,  one  moment  looking  vengeance,  the  next  humble, 
obeisant.  Is  it  not  tiue  that  the  sins  of  the  fathers  are  visited  upon 
the  children  ?  Certain  it  is  that  the  light  of  genius  he  inherited 
was  dimmed  from  its  original  source.  He  found  no  rejiose  upon 
earth,  but  wandered  like  a  breeze,  until  he  was  laid  down  in  the 
quiet  churchyard  of  Grasmere,  close  beside  the  resting-place  of 
William  Wordswoilh.* 

♦  Hartley  Culcii.l-e,  son  of  Saniuul  Taylor  Coleridge,  brm  1796,  died  ISSL 


I.TTKKAKY    AND    DOMESTIC    LIFE.  313 

My  father's  contributions  to  the  Magazine  this  year  were  very 
extensive,  and  several  of  them  of  enduring  interest.  They  include 
"Christopher  in  his  Sporting  Jacket,"  "Old  North  and  Young 
North,"  "Christinas  Dreams,"  "Health  and  Longevity,"  "  Salmo- 
nia,"  and  "Sacred  Poetry."  My  mother,  wiiting  to  her  sister  in 
September,  asks  her: — "Have  you  read  Blackwood's  last  number? 
I  mean  any  of  it.  '  Christopher  in  his  Sporting  Jacket'  is  thought 
very  good  ;  and  Mr.  W.  expressed  a  sort  of  wish  our  nephew  John 
might  like  it.  The  Dean  of  Chester  thinks  it  about  one  of  the  best 
things  the  author  has  produced." 

Another  of  her  letters  about  this  time  contains  some  pleasant 
home  gossip.  A  baby  niece  is  of  coiirse  a  principal  topic : — "  Mr. 
Wilson  feels  a  great  interest  in  her,  poor  little  thing,  and  is  never 
annoyed  by  any  of  her  infantine  screams  or  noises,  which  is  more 
than  I  can  say  of  him  towards  his  own  when  of  that  age.  This  is 
a  comfort  to  me,  because  I  shall  have  true  delight  in  having  the 
little  darling  here  as  often  as  she  is  allowed  to  come  ;  and  you  may 
well  suppose  tiiat  I  am  always  anxious,  when  the  pen  is,  as  it  must 
be,  in  Mr.  Wilson's  hand  often,  that  he  has  nothing  to  disturb  him." 
The  mother's  heart  is  shown  in  the  following  lines : — "  Johnny  is 
preparing  for  the  University.  As  Mr.  Wilson  only  expects  and 
exacts  common  diligence  from  him,  I  do  not  fear  he  will  do  well." 
After  mentioning  the  classes,  she  says  : — "  The  three  last-mentioned 
accom|)lishments  (drawing,  fencing,  and  dancing)  are  only  recrea- 
tions, but  there  is  no  harm  in  them ;  and  I  believe  a  greater  blessing 
cannot  befell  a  young  man  than  to  have  every  hour  harmlessly  if 
not  usefully  employed.  You  cannot  think  how  much  pleased  I  was 
with  a  letter  Mr.  W.  received  from  Miss  Watson  the  other  day, 
speaking  of  the  boys.  I  dare  say  it  was  flattering,  but  she  has  a 
way  of  saying  things  that  appears  as  if  they  were  not  flattering. 
I  would  copy  it  now  for  you,  but  that  I  think  you  must  be  tired  of 
the  old  mother's  egotism.  I  have  not  mentioned  the  girls,  but 
they  are  well.  M.  has  two  pupils,  Jane  and  M.  De  Quincey,  to 
whom  she  gives  daily  lessons  in  reading,  writing,  geography,  gram- 
mar, and  spelling;  this  occupies  good  part  of  the  forenoon,  and 
practising,  mending  old  stockings,  millinery,  and  such  like,  fill  up 
some  of  the  remaining  hours  of  the  day." 

Tlie  four  following  letters  from  Allan  Cunningham  tell  their  own 
story : — 
13* 


314  MEMOIR  or  jouN  ^vlLso^^ 

"  27  Lower  Belgrave  Place, 
\Uh  Sq^tember,  1828. 

"  My  pear  Friend  : — I  have  cut  and  cleared  away  right  and 
left,  and  opened  a  space  for  your  very  beautiful  poem,  and  now  it 
will  appear  at  full  length,  as  it  rightly  deserves.  Will  you  have 
the  goodness  to  say  your  will  to  the  proof  as  quickly  as  possible, 
and  let  me  have  it  again,  for  the  printer  pushes  me  sorely. 

"  You  have  indeed  done  me  a  great  and  lasting  kindness  ;  you 
have  aided  me,  I  trust  effectually,  in  establishing  my  Annual  Book,* 
and  enabled  me  to  create  a  little  income  for  my  family.  My  life 
has  been  one  continued  struggle  to  maintain  my  independence  and 
support  A\  it'e  and  children,  and  I  have,  when  the  labor  of  the  day 
closed,  endeavored  to  use  the  little  talent  which  my  country  allows 
me  to  possess  as  easily  and  as  profitably  as  I  can.  The  pen  thus 
adds  a  little  to  the  profit  of  the  chisel,  and  I  keep  head  above  water, 
and  on  occasion  take  the  middle  of  the  causeway  with  an  inde- 
pendent step. 

"  There  is  another  matter  about  which  I  know  not  how  to  speak; 
and  now  I  think  on't,  I  had  better  speak  out  bluntly  at  once.  My 
means  are  but  moderate  ;  and  having  engaged  to  produce  the  liter- 
ature of  the  volume  for  a  certain  sum,  the  variety  of  the  articles  has 
caused  no  small  expenditure.  I  camiot,  therefore,  say  that  I  can 
pay  you  for  Edderline's  Dream ;  but  I  beg  you  Avill  allow  me  to  Lay 
twenty  pounds  aside  by  way  of  token  or  remembrance,  to  be  paid 
in  any  way  you  may  desire,  into  some  friend's  hand  here,  or  remit- 
ted by  post  to  Edinburgh.  I  am  ashamed  to  offer  so  small  a  sum 
for  a  work  which  I  admire  so  much  ;  but  what  Burns  said  to  the 
Muse,  I  may  with  equal  propriety  say  to  you : — 

"  '  Ye  ken — ye  ken 
That  strong  necessity  supreme  is 
'Mang  sons  of  men.' 

"Now,  may  I  venture  to  look  to  you  for  eight  or  ten  pages  for 
my  next  volume  on  the  same  kind  of  terms  ?  I  shall,  with  half-a- 
dozen  assurances  of  the  aid  of  the  leading  men  of  genius,  be  able  to 
negotiate  more  effectually  with  the  i)roprietor ;  for,  when  he  sees 
that  Sir  Walter  Scott,  Professor  Wilson,  Mr.  Southoy,  Mr.  Lcck- 
hart,  and  one  or  two  more,  are  lesolved  to  sui)port  me,  he  will  com- 
prehend that  the  speculation  will  be  piotitable,  and  close  with  me 

*  '/''if  Annict»cir</. 


LH'EKAUY    AND    DOMKSTIC    LIFK.  315 

P      accordingly.     Do,  I  beg  :in(i  entreat  of  you,  agree  to  tliis,  and  ?ay 
so  Avlien  you  write. 

"Forgive  all  this  forwardness  and  earnestness,  and  believe  nie  to 
be  your  faithful  servant  and  admirer, 

"Allan  Cunxixgham." 

"27  LoTVER  Belgrave  Place, 
November  7,  1828. 

"  My  dicar  Friexd  : — My  little  Annual — thanks  to  your  ex- 
quisite Edderline,  and  your  kind  and  seasonable  words — has  been 
very  successful.  It  is  not  yet  published,  and  cannot  appear  these 
eight  days,  yet  we  have  sold  C,000  copies.  The  booksellers  all  look 
kindly  upon  it ;  the  proprietor  is  very  much  pleased  with  his  suc- 
cess ;  and  it  is  generally  looked  upon  here  as  a  work  fairly  rooted 
in  public  favor,  liha first  large  paper  proof-copy  ready  shall  be  on 
its  way  to  Gloucester  Place  before  it  is  an  hour  finished.  It  is  in- 
deed outwardly  a  most  splendid  book. 

"  I  must  now  speak  of  the  future.  The  Keepsake  people  last  sea- 
son bought  up  some  of  my  friends,  and  imagined,  because  they  had 
succeeded  with  one  or  tAvo  eminent  ones,  that  my  book  was  crushed, 
and  would  not  be  any  thing  like  a  rival.  They  were  too  wily  for  me ; 
and  though  I  shall  never  be  able  to  meet  them  in  their  own  way, 
still  I  must  endeavor  to  gather  all  the  friends  round  me  that  I  can. 
I  have  been  with  our  mutual  friend  Lockhart  this  morning,  and  we 
have  made  the  following  arrangejnent,  which  he  permits  me  to  men- 
tion to  you,  in  the  hope  you  will  aid  me  on  the  same  conditions. 
He  has  promised  me  a  poem,  and  a  piece  of  prose  to  the  extent  of 
from  twenty  to  thirty  pages,  for  £50,  and  engaged  to  write  for  no 
other  annual.  Now  if  you  would  help  me  on  the  same  terms,  and 
to  the  same  extent,  I  shall  consider  myself  fortunate.  It  is  true 
you  kindly  proniised  to  aid  me  with  whatever  I  liked  for  next  year, 
and  desired  me  not  to  talk  of  money.  JMy  dear  friend,  Ave  make 
money  of  you,  and  why  not  make  some  return  ?  I  beg  you  Avill, 
therefore,  letting  bygones  be  bygones  in  money  matters,  join  Avith 
]Mr.  Lockhart  in  this.  I  could  give  you  juany  reasons  for  doino-  it, 
all  of  Avliich  would  influence  you.  It  is  enough  to  say,  that  my 
rivals  will  come  next  year  into  the  field,  in  all  the  strength  of  talent, 
and  rank,  and  fashion,  and  strive  to  bear  me  down.  The  author  of 
'Eddeiline,'  and  many  other  things  equally  delightfid,  can  prevent 
this,  and  to  hhn  I  look  for  help. 


316  MKMOIR    OF    .JOHN    WILSOX. 

"  I  sliall  try  Wordswortli  in  the  same  way.  .  I  am  sure  of  Snntlioy 
and  of  Ed.  Irving.  I  shall  limit  ray  list  of  contributors,  and  make 
a  better  book  generally  than  I  have  done.  I  am  to  have  a  painting 
from  Wilkie,  and  one  from  Newton,  and  they  will  be  more  carefully 
engrave<l  too. 

"  I  am  glad  that  your  poem  has  met  with  such  applause  here.  I 
have  now  seen  all  the  other  Annuals,  and  I  assure  you  that  in  the 
best  of  them  there  is  nothing  that  approaches  in  beauty  to  '  Edder- 
line.'  This  seems  to  be  the  general  opinion,  and  proud  I  am  of  it. 
I  remain,  my  dear  friend,  yours  ever  faithfully, 

"Allan  Cunningham." 

"27  Belgrave  Place  Lower, 
November  19,  1828. 

"  My  dear  Friend  : — I  send  for  your  acceptance  a  large-paper 
copy  of  my  Annual,  with  proofs  of  the  ])lates,  and  I  send  it  by  the 
mail  that  you  may  have  it  on  your  table  a  few  days  before  publica- 
tion. You  will  be  glad  to  hear  that  the  book  has  been  favorably 
received,  and  the  general  impression  seems  to  be,  that  while  the 
Keepsake  is  a  little  below  expectation,  the  Anniversary  is  a  little 
above  it.  I  am  told  by  one  in  whose  judgment  I  can  fully  confide, 
that  our  poetry  is  superior,  and  '  Edderline's  Di'eam'  the  noblest 
poem  in  any  of  the  annuals.  This  makes  me  happy ;  it  puts  us  at 
the  head  of  th.ese  publications. 

"  I  took  the  liberty  of  writing  a  letter  to  you  lately,  and  ven- 
tured to  make  you  an  offer,  which  I  wish,  in  justice  to  my  admira- 
tion of  your  talents,  had  been  worthier  of  your  merits.  I  hope  and 
entreat  you  will  think  favorably  of  my  request,  and  give  me  your 
aid,  as  powerfully  as  you  can.  If  you  but  knew  the  opposition 
which  I  have  to  encounter,  and  could  hear  the  high  words  of  those 
who,  with  their  exclusive  poets,  and  their  bands  of  bards,  seek  to 
bear  me  down,  your  own  proud  spirit  and  chivalrous  feelings  would 
send  you  [quickly]  to  my  aid,  and  secure  me  from  being  put  tc 
shame  by  the  highest  of  the  island.  One  great  poet,  not  a  Scotch 
one,  kindly  advised  me  last  season,  to  think  no  more  of  literary 
competition  with  the  Keepsake,  inasmuch  as  he  dipt  his  pen  exclu- 
isively  for  that  })ublication.  I  kjiow  his  poetic  contributions,  and 
fear  them  not  when  I  think  on  '  Edderline.' 

"I  hope  you  will  not  think  me  vain,  or  a  dreamer  of  unattainable 
things,  when  1  express  my  hope  of  being  able,  through  the  aid  of 


i 


LITKUARY    AND   DOMESTIC    LIFE.  317 

my  friends,  lo  maintain  the  reputation  of  my  book  against  the  fame 
of  otliers,  thougli  they  be  aided  by  some  who  might  have  aided  me. 
Should  you  decline — which  I  hope  in  God  you  will  not — the  offer 
which  I  lately  made,  I  shall  still  depend  upon  your  assistance,  which 
you  had  the  goodness  to  promise.  Another  such  poem  as  '  Edder- 
line'  would  make  my  fortune,  and  if  I  could  obtain  it  by  INIay  or 
June  it  would  be  in  excellent  time. 

"  If  you  would  wish  a  copy  or  two  of  the  book  to  give  away,  I 
shall  be  happy  to  place  them  at  your  disposal.  I  remain,  my  dear 
friend,  your  faithful  servant, 

"Allan  Cunningham," 

"  27  Lower  Belgrave  Place, 
Uth  December,  1828. 

"  INIy  dear  Friend  : — I  enclose  you  some  lines  for  your  friend's 
paper,  and  am  truly  glad  of  any  opportunity  of  obliging  you.  I  like 
Mr.  Bell's  Joitrnal*  much.  He  understands,  I  see,  what  poetry  is ; 
a  thing  not  common  among  critics.  If  there  is  any  thing  else  you 
wish  me  to  do,  say  so.     I  have  not  the  heart  to  refuse  you  any  thing. 

"  I  was  much  pleased  with  your  kind  assurances  respecting  ray 
next  year's  volume.  Mr.  Lockhart  said  he  would  write  to  you,  and  I 
hope  you  will  unite  with  him  and  Irving  in  contributing  for  me  alone. 
As  I  have  been  disappointed  in  Wordsworth,  I  hope  you  Avill  allow 
me  to  add  £25  of  his  £50  to  the  £50  I  already  promised.  The  other 
I  intend  for  Mr.  Lockhart,  This,  after  all,  looks  like  picking  your 
pocket,  for  such  is  the  rage  for  Annuals  at  present,  that  a  poet  so 
eminent  as  you  are  may  command  terms.  I  ought,  perhaps,  to  be 
satisfied  with  the  kind  assurances  you  have  given,  and  not  be  over 
greedy. 

"  One  word  about  Wordsworth.  In  his  last  letter  to  me,  he  said 
that  Alaric  Watts  had  a  prior  claim,  '  Only,'  quoth  he,  '  Watts  says 
I  go  about  depreciating  other  Annuals  out  of  regard  for  the  Keep- 
sake.  This  is  untrue.  I  only  said,  as  the  Keepsahe  paid  poets  best 
it  would  be  the  best  work.'  This  is  not  depreciating!  He  advised 
me,  before  he  knew  who  were  to  be  my  contributors,  not  to  think 
of  rivalry  in  literature  with  the  Keepsake.  Enough  of  a  little  man 
and  a  great  poet.  His  poetic  sympathies  are  warm,  but  his  heart, 
for  any  manly  pur])ose,  as  cold  as  a  December  snail.     I  had  to-day 

•  The  EUtnhiiryk  Lih'ra,^y  Otis«tte. 


31S  MEMOIR   OF   JOHN    WILSOM. 

a  very  pleasant,  witty  contribution,  from  Theodore  Hook,     I  remain, 
my  dear  friend,  yours  faithfully, 

"Allan  Cunningham. 

"  P.  S. — I  have  got  Mr.  Bell's  letter  and  Journals,  and  shall  thank 
hhu  for  liis  good  opinion  by  sending  lihn  a  trifle  some  time  soon  for 
the  jjaper.  If  you  think  my  name  will  do  the  least  good  to  the 
good  cause,  pray  insert  it  at  either  end  of  the  poem  you  like.     A.  C." 

The  Anniversary^  of  which  the  editor  wrote  so  anxiously,  was 
not  tlie  only  literary  work  this  year  that  had  requested  the  Profes- 
Bors's  powerful  aid.  "Edderline's  Dream,"  unfortunately,  a  frag- 
ment, some  cantos  having  been  lost  in  MS.,  was  followed  in  the 
month  of  December  by  two  beautiful  little  poems,  one  called  "The 
Vale  of  Peace,"  the  other  "  The  Ilare-Bells,"  written  for  TJie  Edin- 
burgh Literary  Gazette,  then  edited  by  Mr.  Henry  Glassford  Bell, 
whose  abilities  as  a  student  in  the  Moral  Philosophy  class  had  attract- 
ed Professor  Wilson's  notice.  He  frequently  visited  at  his  house  in 
Gloucester  Place,  and  very  soon  evinced  qualities  more  worthy  of 
regard  than  a  cultivated  mind  and  a  refined  poetical  taste.  This 
acquaintanceship  ripened  into  a  friendship  warm  and  sincere.  Sup- 
port in  afiairs  of  literature  was  not  long  a  binding  link ;  letters  were 
forsaken  for  law,  and,  after  a  few  years'  practice  in  Edinburgh,  IVIr. 
Bell  removed  to  Glasgow,  having  obtained  a  Sheriflship  in  that 
important  city,  where  he  has  long  enjoyed  the  respect  due  to  an 
ad Jiiirable  judge,  and  an  accomplished  man  of  letters. 

It  has  already  been  mentioned  that  my  father  had  prepared 
sketches  for  the  composition  of  various  poems ;  why  he  did  not  fol- 
low further  his  original  impulses  in  this  direction  has  been  matter 
of  sui'prise.  So  strong  a  genius  as  his  can  hardly  be  supposed  to 
have  quite  missed  its  proper  direction.  Yet  from  the  date  of  the 
publication  of  the  "City  of  the  Plague,"  up  to  1829,  there  is  no  in- 
dication of  his  having  seriously  bent  his  mind  to  poetical  composi- 
tion. In  the  autumn  of  that  year,  at  Elleray,  he  was  again  visited 
by  the  muse,  and  my  mother  thus  mentions  the  fact  to  her  sister: — 

"  Mr.  W.  has  been  in  rather  a  poetical  vein  of  late,  and  I  rather 
think  there  will  be  a  pretty  long  poem  of  his  in  the  next  number  of 
Blackwood,  entitled,  '  An  Evening  in  Furness  Abbey,'  or  some- 
thing of  that  land.  It  will  be  too  long  for  you  to  read,  but  perhaps 
Ann  will  do  so,  and  tell  v<^u  what  it  is  about."     From  the  publica- 


LITERARY    AND   DOMESTIC    LIFE.  319 

tion  of  tliis  beautiful  poem,  the  tender  domestic  allusions  in  which 
would  alone  make  it  of  peculiar  interest  and  value  in  the  eyes 
of  the  present  writer,*  down  to  1837,  when  he  composed  his  last 
poem,  "  Uniniore,"  he  did  not  again  exercise  his  poetic  faculty  in 
the  form  of  verse.  Late  in  life,  he  thought  much  of  a  subject  which 
he  wished  to  shape  into  verse,  "The  Covenanters,"  but  he  said  that 
he  found  in  it  insuperable  difficulties.!  "The  Manse"  was  another 
Bubject  he  used  to  speak  of,  adding  jocularly,  "  he  was  obliged  to 
leave  that,  owing  to  the  Dlsruptio)iy\ 

IIov\'  far  we  have  got  beyond  the  days  when  criticism  of  ihe 
Ettrick  Shepherd  required  remonstrance  to  subdue  it,  may  be  gath- 
ered from  the  next  letter,  received  during  this  holiday  time  at 
Ellcray : — 

"Mount  Benger,  AugristW,  1829. 

"  My  dear  and  noxoRED  John  : — I  never  thought  you  bad  been 
so  unconscionable  as  to  desire  a  sportsman  on  the  11th  or  even  the 
13th  of  August  to  leave  Ettrick  Forest  for  the  bare  scraggy  hills  of 
Westmoreland! — Ettrick  Forest,  where  the  black  cocks  and  white 
cocks,  brown  cocks  and  gray  cocks,  ducks,  plovers,  and  peascweeps 
and  whilly-whaups  are  as  thick  as  the  flocks  that  cover  her  moun- 
tains, and  come  to  the  hills  of  Westmoreland  that  can  nourish  nothing 
better  than  a  castril  or  stonechat!  To  leave  the  great  yellow-fin  of 
Yarrow,  or  the  Still  larger  gray-locher  for  the  degenerate  fry  of 
Troutbeck,  Esthwaite,  or  even  Wastwater  !  No,  no,  the  request  will 
not  do ;  it  is  an  unreasonable  one,  and  therefore  not  unlike  Your- 
self; for  besides,  what  would  become  of  Old  Xorth  and  Blackwood, 
and  all  our  friends  for  game,  were  I  to  come  to  Elleray  just  now? 
I  know  of  no  home  of  man  where  I  could  be  so  happy  within  doors, 
with  so  many  lovely  and  joyous  ffices  around  me ;  but  this  is  not 
the  season  for  in-door  enjoyments;  they  must  be  reaped  on  the 

*  Contrastiug  his  present  experience  with  his  early  poetic  dreams,  he  says : 
"Those  (lays  are  stone, 
And  it  has  pleased  hi^h  Heaven  to  crown  my  life 
With  such  a  load  of  happini'ss,  that  at  times 

My  very  soul  is  faint  with  bearing  up  the  blessed  burden."  .  .  . 
t  He  corresponded  with  Mr.  Alrd  a  good  deal  on  this  subject,  llis  letters  are  too  lengthy  for 
Insertion,  but  it  is  refreshing  to  And  in  them  an  occasional  hearty  outburst  of  indisnation  at  the 
persecuting  government  of  Charles  and  James.  "Ought  there  not  to  be  some  savage  splendid 
Covenanters  introduced  somewhere  or  other?  Pray,  consider  with  yourself  how  far  they  ever 
carried  retaliation  or  retribution.  I  believe  not  far.  Besides,  under  such  accursed  tyranny,  bold 
risinjs  up  of  men's  flercest  and  fellest  pas.sions  were  not  wrong." 
}  The  split  in  the  Church  of  Scotland  in  ISii. 


o20  MEMOIK    OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

Avastes  among  the  blooming  heath,  by  the  silver  spring,  or  swathed 
in  the  delicious  breeze  of  the  wilderness.  EUeray,  with  all  its  sweets, 
could  never  have  been  my  choice  for  a  habitation,  and  perhaps  you 
are  the  only  Scottish  gentleman  who  ever  made  such  a  choice,  and 
still  persists  in  maintaining  it,  in  spite  of  every  disadvantage.  Happy 
days  to  you,  and  a  safe  return !     Yours  most  respectfully, 

"  James  Hogg." 

The  following  letter,  written  about  the  same  time,  from  my  father 
to  his  friend  Mr.  Fleming,  is  unfortunately  torn  at  the  conclusion, 
but  what  remains  of  it  is  sufficientl}'^  interesting  to  be  given : — 

"  My  dear  Fleming  : — I  much  fear  that  it  will  not  be  possible 
for  me  to  join  your  party  on  Tuesday,  which  I  should  regret  under 
any  circumstances,  and  more  especially  under  the  present,  when  you 
are  kind  enough  to  wish  my  presence  more  than  usual.  I  have  tried 
to  arrange  my  proceedings,  in  twenty  diflerent  ways,  with  the  view 
of  returning  on  Tuesday,  but  see  not  how  I  can  efiect  my  object. 
Mr.  Benjamin  Penny  and  his  wife  come  to  us  to-morrow,  and  leave 
us  on  Friday.  I  cannot  therefore  go  to  Keswick  till  Saturday,  and 
from  Keswick  I  have  to  go  to  Buttermere  and  Cromack,  and,  if 
possible,  Ennerdale  and  Wastwater.  The  artist  who  accompauies 
me,  or  rather  whom  I  accompany,  is  unfortunately  the  most  helpless 
of  human  beings,  and  incapable  of  finding  his  way  alone  among 
mountains  for  one  single  hour.  I  am,  therefore,  under  the  absolute 
necessity  of  guiding  him  every  mile  of  the  way,  and  were  I  to  leave 
him  he  might  as  well  be  lying  in  his  bed.  His  stay  here  is  limited 
by  his  engagements  in  Edinburgh,  and  we  shall  have  to  return  to 
Elleray  on  Thursday,  without  having  an  opportunity  of  going  again 
into  Cumberland.  Were  I  therefore  to  leave  him  on  Tuesday,  great 
part  of  my  object  in  bringing  hira  here  would  be  defeated,  and,  in- 
deed, even  as  it  is,  I  have  little  hope  of  his  achieving  my  purpose. 
He  can  neither  walk  nor  ride,  nor  remember  the  name  of  the  lake, 
village,  vale,  or  house,  and  yet  he  is  an  excellent  artist,  though  a 
most  incapable  man,  I  returned  from  a  three  days'  tour  with  hira 
on  Saturday  night,  and  Avould  have  immediately  written  to  you,  but 
ex])ected  to  have  called  on  you  on  Sunday  evening,  to  tell  you  how 
matters  stood.  Mrs.  Wilson,  John,  and  one  of  the  girls,  or  indeed 
any  part  of  the  f  imily  yon  choose,  will  be  with  you  on  Tuesday  ;  aud 


LITlCKAliV    AND    DOMESTIC    LIFE.  321 

if  Tuesday  be  a  bad  day,  so  that  Mr.  Gibb  cannot  draw,  and  the 
distance  be  such  as  I  can  accomphsh,  I  will  exert  some  of  my  activ- 
ity, a  little  impaired  now,  though  not  to  any  melancholy  extent,  and 
ai)pear  at  Rayrig  at  five  o'clock. 

"  It  would  have  been  pleasant  had  the  three  friends  met,  in  a 
(juiet  way,  at  Kayrig ;  and  I  do  not  doubt  that,  in  spite  of  all,  we 
might  have  been  even  happy.  But  our  meeting  Avas  prevented. 
Watson,  I  am  sure,  regretted  it ;  and  as  for  myself,  I  trust  you 
will  believe  in  the  warmth  and  sincerity  of  my  aifection. 

"  With  rcgai-d  to  the  conversation  of  Calgarth  about  the  Edin- 
burgh murderers,*  I  had  quite  forgotten  it,  till  the  allusion  to  it  in 
your  kind  letter  recalled  it  to  my  memory.  I  do  not  believe  that 
there  is  any  difference  of  opinion  in  our  minds  respecting  those 
hideous  transactions,  that  might  not  be  reconciled  in  three  minutes' 
iminterrupted  conversation.  But  I  never  yet  recollect  a  single  con- 
ver&ation  in  a  mixed  company,  on  any  subject  on  which  some  differ- 
ence of  opinion  between  two  parties  had  been  expressed  or  inti- 
mated, where  it  was  not  rendered  impossible  to  reconcile  it  by  the 
interposition  of  a  third  or  fourth  party  taking  up  so«ie  point  con- 
nected with,  perh.aps,  but  not  essentially  belonging  to  the  point  at 
issue.  The  argument,  if  there  has  been  one,  is  thus  broken  in 
upon,  new  topics  introduced,  and,  without  tedious  explanations,  it 
is  scarcely  possible  to  get  back  to  the  real  question.  Something  of 
this  kind  occurred,  I  remember,  at  Calgarth.  Watson  and  Lprd 
De  Tabley  joined  in  Avith  certain  remarks — right  enough,  peihaps, 
in  their  way — but  such  as  involved  and  entangled  the  thread  of  our 
discourse.  And  thus  you  and  I  appeared,  I  am  disposed  to  think, 
to  have  adopted  different  views  of  the  matter ;  whereas,  had  we 
been  left  to  ourselves,  we  should  either  have  agreed,  or  at  least  had 
an  opportunity  of  letting  each  other  clearly  understand  what  the 
point  was  on  which  we  disagreed,  and  the  grounds  of  that  disagree- 
ment. In  early  life  I  fear  that  my  studies  were  not  such  as  habitu- 
'^ated  my  mind  to  the  very  strictest  and  closest  reasonings;  nor 
perhaps  is  it  the  natural  bent  .  .  .  ." 

The  artist,  Mr.  Gibb,  whose  incapacity  in  travelling  is  thus  hu- 

♦  Curke  and  Ilarc,  wlio  were  tried  in  Edinburgh,  In  IS'29,  for  a  series  of  murders  pt  rpetmted 
for  the  puq)ose  of  supplying  the  inedieul  sehuol  with  auutoaiiejil  subjects.— See  Xocte^  Ambro- 
aiiincr.  lUO. 


322  MEMOIR    OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

morously  described,  was  taken  to  Westmoreland  by  Professor  Wil- 
son, in  order  to  make  drawings  for  au  intended  work  descriptive  of 
lake  scenery ;  a  design,  however,  that  came  to  an  end,  owing  to 
an  untimely  disaster  that  overtook  the  numerous  illustrations  that 
had  been  made. 

A  letter  from  so  celebrated  a  man  as  Thomas  Carlyle  naturally 
awakens  interest,  to  know  how  he  and  Professor  Wilson  regarded 
each  other.  The  terms  of  affection  expressed  in  this  epistle  would 
lead  to  a  supposition  that  there  had  been  an  intimate  intercourse 
between  them.  But  either  want  of  opportunity  or  other  circum- 
stances prevented  the  continuance  of  personal  friendship.  It  seems 
that  these  two  gifted  men  never  met,  at  least  not  more  than  once 
again  after  their  first  intro<luction,  which  took  place  in  the  house 
of  Mr.  John  Gordon,  at  one  time  a  favorite  pupil,  and  ever  after  a 
dearly-loved  friend  of  my  father. 

"  Cr.ugeiVputtock,  Dumfries, 
Idth  December,  1829. 

"  Ml  DEAR  Sir  : — Your  kind  promise  of  a  Christmas  visit  has 
not  been  forgotten  here  ;  and  though  we  are  not  without  misgiv- 
ings as  to  its  fulfilment,  some  hope  also  still  lingers ;  at  all  events, 
if  we  must  go  unserved,  it  shall  not  be  for  want  of  wishing  and 
audible  asking.  Come,  then,  if  you  would  do  us  a  high  /avor,  that 
warm  hearts  may  welcome  in  the  cold  New- Year,  and  the  voice  of 
poetry  and  philosophy,  7inmerls  lege  solutis,  may  for  once  be  heard 
in  these  deserts,  where,  since  Noah's  deluge,  little  but  the  whirring 
of  heath-cocks  and  the  lowing  of  oxen  has  broken  the  stillness. 
You  shall  have  a  warm  fire,  and  a  warm  welcome  ;  and  we  will 
talk  in  all  dialects,  concerning  all  things,  climb  to  hill-tops,  and  see 
certain  of  the  kingdoms  of  this  world,  and  at  night  gather  round 
a  clear  hearth,  and  forget  that  winter  and  the  devil  are  so  busy  in 
our  planet.  There  are  seasons  when  one  seems  as  if  emancipated 
from  the  '  prison  called  life,'  as  if  its  bolts  were  broken,  and  the 
Russian  ice-palace  were  changed  into  an  open  sunny  Tempe,  and 
man  might  love  his  brother  without  fraud  or  fear !  A  few  such 
hours  are  scattered  over  our  existence,  otherwise  it  were  too  hard, 
and  Avould  make  us  too  hard. 

"  But  now  descending  to  prose  arrangements,  or  capabilities  of 
arrangement,  let  me  remind  you  how  easy  it  is  to  be  conveyed 
hither.     There  is  a  mail-coach  niglitly  to  Dumfries,  and  two  stage- 


i 


litp:rary  and  domestic  life,  323 

coaches  every  alternate  clay  to  Thornhill ;  from  each  of  which  places 
we  are  but  fifteen  miles  distant,  with  a  fiir  road,  and  plenty  of 
vehicles  from  both.  Could  we  have  warning,  we  would  send  you 
down  two  horses  ;  of  wheel  carriages  (except  carts  and  barrows) 
we  are  still  unhappily  destitute.  Nay,  in  any  case,  the  distance, 
for  a  stout  Scottish  man,  is  but  a  morning  walk,  and  this  is  the  love- 
liest December  weather  I  can  recollect  of  seeing.  But  we  are  at 
the  Dumfries  post-office  every  Wednesday  and  Saturday,  and 
should  rejoice  to  have  the  quadrupeds  waiting  for  you  either  there 
or  at  Tliornhill,  on  any  specified  day.  To  Gordon,  I  purpose 
writing  on  Wednesday  ;  but  any  way  I  know  he  will  follow  you, 
as  Hesperus  does  the  sun. 

"  I  have  not  seen  one  BlacJcioood,  or  even  an  Edinburgh  news- 
paper since  I  returned  hither ;  so  what  you  are  doing  in  that  un- 
paralleled city  is  altogether  a  mystery  to  ine.  Scarcely  have  tidings 
of  the  Scotsman-Mercury  duel  reached  me,  and  how  the  worthies 
failed  to  shoot  each  other,  and  the  one  has  lost  his  editorship,  and 
tJie  other  still  continues  to  edit.*  Sir  William  Hamilton's  paper 
on  Coushi's  Metaphysics  I  read  last  night ;  but,  like  Hogg's  Fife 
warlock,  '  my  head  whirled  roun',  and  ane  thing  I  couldna  mind.' 
0  curas  hominum  !  I  have  some  thoughts  of  beginning  to  j)^'o- 
phesy  next  year,  if  I  prosper ;  that  seems  the  best  style,  could  one 
strike  into  it  rightly. 

"Now,  tell  me  if  you  will  come,  or  if  you  absolutely  refuse.  At 
all  events,  remember  me  as  long  as  you  can  in  good- will  and  affec- 
tion, as  I  will  ever  remember  you.  My  wife  sends  you  her  kindest 
regards,  and  still  hopes  against  hope  that  she  shall  wear  her  Goethe 
brooch  this  Christmas,  a  tiling  only  done  when  there  is  a  man  of 
genius  in  the  company. 

"  I  must  break  oflf,  for  there  is  an  Oxonian  gigman  coming  to 
visit  me  in  an  hour,  and  I  have  many  things  to  do.  I  heard  him 
say  the  other  night  that  in  literaiy  Scotland  there  was  not  one  such 
other  man  as ! — a  thing  in  which,  if would  do  him- 
self any  justice,  I  cordially  agi-ee.  Believe  me  always,  my  dear 
sir,  yours  with  affectionate  esteem,                   Thomas  Carlyle." 

•  Oncof  Uie  jileasant  little  incidents  of  those  (urrceable  times,  when  it  wasconsiJered  necesisiiry 
th:il  the  editors  of  the  ScoUttuin  and  the  Ciiledonian  Jlercuri/  should  exchanse  shots  to  vindieate 
a  fino-iu-t  eiiUcism.  The  i.riMcipals  were  Mr.  t'harhs  Maclaren  and  Dr.  .I.inie.s  Browne.  The 
"  hostile  ineuUiijj"  took  placo  at  sewn  o'clock  in  the  morning,  on  the  12th  of  November,  1829. 


'62i  MEMOIR   OF   JOUN    WILSON. 

About  this;  time  I  find  another  letter  from  Mr.  Lockhart,  referring 
to  tlie  contest  for  the  University  of  Oxford  hi  1829,  when  Su*  Robert 
Peel  was  unseated  : — 

"  LoxBox,  24  Slssex  Place,  Regent's  Park, 
Sunday. 

"  My  DEAR  Wilson  : — I  am  exceedingly  anxious  to  hear  from 
you,  firstly  about  Landor,  what  you  have  done,  or  what  I  really 
may  expect  to  count  on,  and  ^ohen  ?  You  will  see  Blanco  White's 
review  ere  this  reaches  you.  I  think  it  won't  do,  behig  full  of  cox- 
combry, and  barren  of  information,  and  in  all  the  lighter  parts 
mauvais  (jenre.     It's,  however,  supported  by  all  the  Coplestons, 

Malthuses,  etc. ;  and  to  satisfy ,  I  must  make  an  exertion,  in 

which,  as  you  love  me,  give  me  your  efiectual  aid — for  you  can.     I 
know  you  will. 

"I  take  it  for  granted  you  have  been  applied  to  both  for  Peel 
and  Inglis.  What  do  you  say  on  that  score  ?  I  am  as  well  pleased 
I  don't  happen  to  have  a  vote.  To  have  one,  would  cost  rae  near 
-£100 ;  more  than  I  care  for  Peel,  Inglis,  and  the  Catholic  Question, 
triajuncta  in  uno.  Tlie  Duke  now  counts  on  forty  majority  in  the 
Lords,  but  his  cronies  hint  he  begins  to  be  sorry  the  opposition  out 
of  doors  is  so  xceak^  as  he  had  calculated  on  forcing,  through  the 
Ko  Popery  row,  the  Catholics  to  swallow  a  bill  seasoned  originally 
for  the  gusto  of  the  Defender  of  the  Faith. 

"How  are  you  all  at  home?     Ever  yours, 

"  J.    G.    LOCKHAKT. 

"  p.  S. — If  you  go  to  Oxon,  come  hither  imprimis^  and  I  will  go 
with  you." 

The  next  letter  is  addressed  to  Mr.  De  Quincey,  dated  June, 
1829,  and  alludes  to  the  "sketch  of  the  Professor,"  of  which  I  have 
made  partial  use  iu  a  previous  chapter : — 

"  Sunday  Evening,  June,  1 829. 

"My  dear  De  Quixcey: — I  had  intended  calling  at  the  Nab  to- 
morrow, to  know  whether  or  not  you  had  left  Edinburgh  ;  but 
from  the  Literary  Gazette,  received  this  morning,  I  perceive  you 
are  still  in  the  Modern  Athens.  I  wish,  when  you  have  determined 
on  coming  hitherwards,  that  you  would  let  me  have  intimatiou 
thereof,  as  an  excursion  or  two  among  the  mountains,  ere  summer 
fades,  would  be  pleasant,  if  practicable. 


LITERAKY    ANIJ    DOMESTIC    LIFE.  325 

"Your  sketch  of  the  Professor  has  given  us  pleasure  at  Elleray. 
It  has  occurred  to  me  that  you  may  possibly  allude,  in  the  p;irt 
which  is  to  follow,  to  the  circumstance  of  my  having  lost  a  great 
part  of  my  original  patrimony,  as  an  antithesis  to  the  word  '  rich.' 
Were  you  to  do  so,  I  know  it  would  be  with  your  natural  delicacy, 
and  in  a  way  flattering  to  my  character.  But  the  man  to  whom  I 
owed  that  favor  died  about  a  fortnight  ago, ,  and  any  allu- 
sion to  it  might  seem  to  have  been  prompted  by  myself,  and  would 
excite  angry  and  painful  feelings.  On  that  account  I  trouble  you 
with  this  perhaps  needless  hint,  that  it  would  be  better  to  pass  it 
over  sub  silentio.  Otherwise,  I  should  have  liked  some  allusion  to 
it,  as  the  loss,  grievous  to  many  minds,  never  hurt  essentially  the 
peace  of  mine,  nor  embittered  my  hap2)iness. 

"If  you  think  the  Isle  of  Palms  and  the  City  of  the  Plague 
original  poems  (in  design),  and  unborrowed  and  unsuggested,  I 
hope  you  will  say  so.  The  Plague  has  been  often  touched  on  and 
alluded  to,  but  never,  that  I  know  of,  was  made  the  subject  of  a  poem, 
old  Withers  (the  City  Remembrancer)  excepted,  and  some  drivel- 
ling of  Taylor  the  Water-Poet.  Defoe's  fictitious  prose  narrative  I 
bad  never  read,  except  an  extract  or  two  in  Britton's  Beauties  of 
England.  If  you  think  me  a  good  private  cliaracter,  do  say  so ; 
and  if  in  my  house  there  be  one  who  sheds  a  quiet  light,  perh.aps  a 
beautiful  niche  may  be  given  to  that  clear  luminary.  Base  brutes 
have  libelled  my  personal  character.  Coming  from  you,  the  truth 
told,  without  reference  to  their  malignity,  will  make  me  and  others 
more  happy  than  any  kind  expression  you  may  use  regarding  my 
genius  or  talents.  In  the  Liyhts  and  /Shadows^  Margaret  Lynd- 
say^  The  Foresters,  and  many  articles  in  Blackwood  (such  as  Selby's 
'Ornithology'*),  I  have  wished  to  speak  of  humble  life,  and  the 
*^limentriry  feelings  of  the  human  soul  in  i^^olation,  under  the  light 
of  a  veil  of  poetry.  Have  I  done  so?  Pathos,  a  sense  of  the 
beautiful,  and  humor,  I  think  I  possess.  Do  I  ?  In  the  City  of 
the  Plague  there  ought  to  be  something  of  the  sublime.  Is  theie? 
That  you  think  too  well  of  me,  is  most  probably  the  case.  So  do 
not  fear  to  speak  whatever  you  think  less  flattering,  for  the  opinion 
of  such  a  nuui,  being  formed  in  kindness  and  affection,  will  gratify 
me  far  beyond  the  most  boundless  panegyric  from  anybody  else.  1 
feel  that  I  am  totally  free  from  all  jealousy,  si^ite,  envy,  and  un- 

♦  November.  1826. 


326  MKMOIR    OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

charitableness.  I  am  not  so  passionate  in  temper  as  you  think.  lu 
comparison  with  yourself,  I  am  the  Prince  of  Peacefulness,  for  you 
are  a  nature  of  dreadful  pas>ions  subdued  by  reason.  I  wish  you 
would  praise  me  as  a  lecturer  on  Moral  Philosophy.  That  would 
do  me  good ;  aiul  say  that  I  am  thoroughly  logical  and  argumenta- 
tive— for  it  is  true  ;  not  a  rhetorician,  as  fools  aver.  I  think,  with 
practice  and  opportunities,  I  would  have  been  an  orator.  Am  I  a 
good  critic  ?  We  are  all  well.  I  have  been  very  ill  with  rheuma- 
tism. God  bless  you,  my  dear  friend,  and  beheve  me  ever  yours 
affectionately,  J.  W." 

The  friendship  subsisting  between  Mr.  De  Quincey  and  my  father 
has  already  been  mentioned.  From  1809,  when  he  was  his  com- 
panion in  pedestrian  rambles  and  the  sharer  of  his  purse,  till  the 
hour  of  his  death,  that  friendship  remained  unbroken,  though  some- 
times, in  his  strange  career,  months  or  years  would  elapse  without 
my  father  either  seeing  or  hearing  of  him.  If  this  singular  man's 
life  were  written  truthfully,  no  one  would  believe  it,  so  strange 
the  tale  would  seem.  It  may  well  be  cause  of  regret  that,  by  his 
own  fatal  indulgence,  he  had  warped  the  original  beauty  of  his  na- 
ture. For  tine  sentiment  and  much  tender  kindliness  of  disposition 
gleamed  through  the  dark  mists  which  had  gathered  around  him, 
and  imperfectly  permitted  him  to  feel  the  virtue  he  so  eloquently 
described.  For  the  most  part  his  habit  of  sympathy  was  such  that 
it  elevated  the  dark  passions  of  life,  investing  them  with  an  awful 
grandeur,  destructive  to  the  moral  sense.  Those  beautiful  writings 
of  his  captivate  the  mind,  and  would  fain  invite  the  reader  to  be- 
lieve that  the  man  they  represent  is  De  Quincey  himself.  But  not 
even  in  the  "Autobiography"  is  hh  persofoiel  to  be  found.  He  in- 
deed knew  how  to  analyze  the  human  heart,  through  all  its  deep 
windings,  but  in  return  he  offered  no  key  of  access  to  his  own.  In 
manner  no  man  was  more  courteous  and  naturally  dignified ;  the 
strange  vicissitudes  of  his  life  had  given  him  a  presence  of  mind 
which  never  deserted  him,  even  in  positions  the  most  trying.  It 
was  this  quality  that  gave  him,  in  combination  with  his  remarkable 
powers  of  persuasion,  connnand  over  all  minds ;  the  ignorant  were 
silenced  by  awe,  and  the  refined  faschiated  as  by  the  spell  of  a  ser- 
pent. The  same  faults  in  common  men  would  have  excited  con- 
tempt; the  same  irregularities  of  life  in  ordinary  mortals  would 


LITEKAKY    AND    DOMESTIC    LIKE.  327 

ftave  destroyed  interest  and  affection  ;  but  with  him  patience  was 
willing  to  be  torn  to  tatters,  and  respect  driven  to  the  last  verge. 
Still  Thomas  De  Quincey  held  the  place  his  intellectual  greatness 
had  at  tirst  taken  possession  of!  Wilson  loved  him  to  the  last,  and 
better  than  any  man  he  understood  him.  In  the  expansiveness  of 
his  own  heart,  he  made  allowances  for  faults  which  experience 
taught  him  were  the  growth  of  circumstance.  It  may  seem  strange 
that  men  so  opposite  in  character  were  allied  to  each  other  by  the 
bonds  of  friendship ;  but  I  think  that  all  experience  shows  that 
sympathy,  not  similarity,  draws  men  to  one  another  in  that  sacred 
relation. 

I  remember  his  coming  to  Gloucester  Place  one  stormy  uight. 
He  remained  hour  after  hour,  in  vain  expectation  that  the  waters 
would  assuage  and  the  hurly-burly  cease.  There  was  nothing  for  it 
but  that  our  visitor  should  remain  all  night.  The  Professor  ordered 
a  room  to  be  prej^ared  for  liim,  and  they  found  each  other  such  good 
company  that  this  accidental  detention  was  prolonged,  without  fur- 
ther difficulty,  for  the  greater  part  of  a  year.  During  this  visit 
some  of  his  eccentricities  did  not  escape  observation.  For  exam- 
ple, he  rarely  appeared  at  the  family  meals,  preferring  to  dine  in  his 
own  room  at  his  own  hour,  not  unfrequently  turning  niglit  into  day. 
His  tastes  were  very  simple,  though  a  little  troublesome,  at  least  to 
llie  servant  who  prepared  his  repast.  Coffee,  boiled  rice  and  milk, 
and  a  piece  of  mutton  from  the  loin,  were  the  materials  that  invari- 
ably formed  his  diet.  The  cook,  who  had  an  audience  with  him 
daily,  received  her  instructions  in  silent  awe,  quite  overpowered  by 
his  manner  ;  for,  luid  he  been  addressing  a  duchess,  he  could  scarcely 
have  spoken  Aviih  more  deference.  He  would  couch  his  request  iu 
such  terms  as  these : — "  Owing  to  dyspepsia  afflicting  my  system, 
and  the  possibility  of  any  additional  disarrangement  of  the  stomach 
taking  place,  consequences  incalculably  distressing  would  arise,  so 
much  so  indeed  as  to  increase  nervous  irritation,  and  prevent  me 
fi'om  attending  to  matters  of  overwhelming  importance,  if  you  do 
not  remember  to  cut  the  mutton  in  a  diagonal  rather  than  in  a  loii- 
giludiiial  form."  The  cook — a  Scotchwoman — had  great  rever- 
ence for  Mr.  De  Quincey  as  a  man  of  genius ;  but,  alter  one  of 
these  interviews,  her  patience  was  pretty  well  exhausted,  and  slie 
would  say,  "  Weel,  I  never  heard  the  like  o'  that  in  a'  my  days  : 
til,.'  bodie  has  an  avvfu'  sicht  o'  woi'ds.     If  it  had  been  my  ain  mais- 


828  MEMOIR   OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

ter  that  was  wanting  his  dinner,  he  would  ha'  ordered  a  h:ile  table- 
fu'  wi'  Uttle  mair  than  a  walF  o'  his  haun,  and  here's  a'  this  claver 
aboot  a  bit  mutton  nae  bigger  than  a  prin.  Mr.  De  Quinshey 
would  mak'  a  gran'  preacher,  though  I'm  tliiuking  a  hantle  o'  the 
folk  wouldna  ken  what  he  was  driving  at."  Betty's  observations 
were  made  with  considerable  self-satisfaction,  as  she  considered  her 
insight  of  Mr.  De  Quincey's  character  by  no  means  slight,  and 
many  was  the  quaint  remark  she  made,  sometimes  hitting  upon  a 
truth  that  entitled  her  to  that  shrewd  sort  of  discrimination  by  no 
means  uncommon  in  the  humble  ranks  of  Scottish  life.  But  these 
little  meals  were  not  the  only  indulgences  that,  when  not  properly 
attended  to,  brought  trouble  to  Mr.  De  Quincey.  Regularity  in 
doses  of  opium  was  even  of  greater  consequence.  An  ounce  of 
laudanum  per  diem  prostrated  animal  life  in  the  early  part  of  the 
day.  It  was  no  unfrequent  sight  to  find  him  in  his  room  lying  upon 
the  rug  in  front  of  the  fire,  his  head  resting  upon  a  book,  with  liis 
arms  crossed  over  his  breast,  plunged  in  profound  slumber.  For 
several  hours  he  would  lie  in  this  state,  until  the  effects  of  the  tor- 
por had  passed  away.  The  time  when  he  was  most  brilliant  was 
generally  towards  the  early  morning  hours ;  and  then,  more  than 
once,  in  order  to  show  him  oif,  my  father  arranged  his  supper  ])ai- 
ties  so  that,  sitting  till  three  or  four  in  the  morning,  he  brought  3Ir, 
De  Quincey  to  that  point  at  which  in  charm  and  power  of  conver- 
sation he  was  so  truly  wonderful.* 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

LITERARY    AND    DOMESTIC    LIFE.  —  A    CRITISE     WITU 
THE    EXPERIMENTAL     SQUADRON. 

1830-37. 

In  1830,  we  get  some  glimpses  of  home  life  in  Gloucester  Place. 
IVom  my  mother's  letters  to  Miss  Penny.  She  says,  in  reply  to  an 
invitation  for  her  sons  to  Penny  Bridge  : — "  The  boys  are  trans- 
ported with  the  idea  of  so  much  enjoyment,  and  I  hope  they  will 

*  Mr.  De  (iiiiii.-oy  died  at  Eirnilimirh,  Diwiiilwr  8,  1859 


LITERARY    AND    DOMESTIC    I-IFE.  329 

not  be  disappointed  indeed.  I  do  not  think  Mr.  Professor  can  ro 
fuse  them,  but  I  have  not  yet  had  time  to  talk  the  matter  over  with 
him;  for  at  the  time  the  letter  came  lie  was  |)articularly  busy,  and 
the  day  before  yesterday,  he  and  Johnny  left  us  for  a  week  to 
visit  an  old  friend,  Mr.  Findlay,  in  the  neighborhood  of  Glasgow, 
from  whose  house  they  mean  to  go  and  peranjbulate  all  the  old 
haunts  in  and  about  Paisley,  where  Mr.  W.  spent  his  boyhood,  and 
particularly  to  see  the  old  minister  Dr.  M'Latchie,  whom  I  dare  say 
you  have  heard  him  mention  often ;  he  lived  in  his  house  for  seve- 
ral years  before  he  went  to  Glasgow  College."  My  father  really 
must  have  been  "  particularly  busy"  at  this  time,  and  his  powers  of 
working  seem  to  me  little  short  of  miraculous ;  he  had  two  articles 
in  Blackwood  in  January  ;  four  in  February  ;  three  in  March  ;  one 
each  in  April  and  May  ;  four  in  June  ;  three  in  July  ;  seven  in  Au- 
gust (or  116  pages);  one  in  September;  two  in  October;  and  one 
in  November  and  December :  being  thirty  articles  in  the  year,  or 
1,200  columns.  To  give  an  idea  of  his  versatility,  I  shall  mention 
the  titles  of  his  articles  in  the  Magazine  for  one  month,  viz.,  Au- 
gust:—"The  Great  Moray  Floods ;"  "The  Lay  of  the  Desert;" 
"  The  Wild  Garland,  and  Sacred  Melodies ;"  "  Wild  Fowl  Siioot- 
ing  ;"  "  Colman's  Random  Records ;"  "  Clark  on  Climate  ;"  "  Noc- 
tes,  No.  51."  My  motner,  wmle  all  this  literary  work  was  going 
on,  was  too  good  a  housewife  to  be  able  to  spare  time  for  more 
than  the  most  notable  works  of  the  day.  She,  however,  says  jocu- 
lai'ly  to  her  correspondent:  "I  think  I  must  give  you  a  little  litera- 
ture, as  I  shine  in  that  line  prodigiously ;  I  have  read,  with  intense 
interest,  as  everybody  nmst  do,  Moore's  Life  of  Lord  Byron. 
Mr.  W.  had  a  copy  sent  to  him,  fortunately;  for  strange  as  it  may 
appear,  it  is  not  to  be  had  in  the  booksellers'  shoph  ..ere,  and  I  sup- 
pose will  not  be  till  the  small  edition  comes  out." 

In  September  and  October,  the  Professor  writes,  from  Penny 
Bridge  and  Elleray,  the  following  letters  to  his  wife : — 

"Penny  Buu)GE,  Tuesday,  September,  18;;0. 
"My  dearest  Jane: — We  came  here  yesterday;  and  my  inten- 
tion was  to  take  Maggy  back  to  Elleray  with  me  to-day,  and  thence 
in  a  few  days  to  Edinburgh.  But  I  find  that  that  arrangement 
would  not  suit,  and  therefore  have  altered  it.  Our  plans  now  are 
as.  follows  : — We  return  in  a  body  to  Elleiay  (that  is,  I  and  Maggy, 


OO'J  MEMOIR   OF    JOHN    WILSON. 

and  James  Ferrier)  this  forenoon.  There  is  a  ball  at  Mrs.  Ed- 
luund's  (the  Gale  !)  to-nig!it,  where  we  shall  be.  On  Tliursday, 
tliere  is  a  grand  public  ball  at  Ambleside,  where  we  shall  be  ;  and  I 
shall  keep  Maggy  at  Elleray  till  Monday,  when  she  and  the  boys 
will  go  in  a  body  to  Penny  Bridge,  and  I  return  alo?ie  to  Edin- 
burgh. 

"  Eroni  your  letters  I  see  you  are  well :  and  I  cannot  deny  Mag- 
gy the  pleasure  of  the  two  balls  ;  so  remain  on  her  account,  which 
I  hope  will  please  you,  and  that  you  will  be  happy  till  and  after  my 
return.  The  session  will  begin  soon,  and  I  shall  have  enough  to  do 
before  it  comes  on.  Dearest  Jane,  be  good  and  cheerful ;  and  I 
hope  all  good  will  attend  us  all  during  the  winter.  Such  weather 
never  was  seen  as  here !  Thursday  last  was  fixed  for  a  regatta  at 
Lowood.  It  was  a  dreadful  day,  and  nothing  occurred  but  a  din- 
ner-[»arty  of  twenty-four,  where  I  presided.  On  Fri<lay,  a  sort  of 
small  regatta  took  place.  A  repast  at  three  o'clock  was  attendetl 
by  about  seventy-five  ladies  and  gentlemen,  and  th^s  ball  in  the 
evening  was,  I  believe,  liked  by  the  young  people.  The  '  wor^tling' 
took  place  during  two  hours  of  rain  and  storm.  The  ling  was  a 
tarn.  Rubinson,  the  schoolmaster,  threw  Brunskil.  and  Ir-ine  threw 
Kobinson ;  but  the  last  fall  was  made  up  between  them,  and  gave 
no  satisfaction.  The  good  people  here  are  all  well  and  kind. 
Maggy  has  stood  her  various  excursions  well,  and  is  fat.  1  think 
her  also  grown  tall.     She  is  a  quarter  of  an  inch  taller  than  Mrs. 

Barlow.     Colonel  B lost  his  wife  lately  by  elopement,  buJ^  is  in 

high  spirits,  and  all  his  conversation  is  about  the  fiiir  sex.  He  is  a 
pleasant  man,  I  think,  and  I  took  a  ride  with  him  to  Grasmere  t'oth- 
er day.  The  old  fool  waltzes  very  well,  and  is  in  love  with  Magiry. 
He  dined  with  us  at  Elleray  on  Sunday.  I  have  not  seen  the  Wat- 
sons for  a  long  time,  but  shall  call  on  them  to-morrow.  The  weather 
and  the  uncertainty  of  my  motions  have  stood  in  the  way  of  many 
things.  I  have  constant  toothache  and  rheumatism,  but  am  tolera- 
bly well  notwithstanding.  Give  my  love  to  Molly  and  Umbs.  Tell 
them  both  to  be  ready  on  my  arrival,  to  help  me  in  arranging  my 
books  and  papers  in  the  garrets  and  elsewhere.  My  dearest  Jane, 
God  bless  you  always.     Your  aftectionate  husband, 

"J.   WlLS02f.'-' 


A  few  davs  later  Ik-  writes:^ 


I 


LITERARY    AND    DOMESTIC    LIFK.  331 

"  Ellerat,  Monday  Afternoon, 
Octohtr,  18:^0. 
"My  dearest  Jaite  : — The  ball  at  Ambleside  went  off  with  groat 
^at^  Maggy  being  the  chief  belle.  The  Mnjor  is  gone,  and  proved 
empty  in  the  long-run.  We  all  dined  at  Calgarth  on  Saturday — a 
pleasant  party.  On  Sunday,  a  Captain  Alexander  (who  was  in 
Persia)  called  on  us,  and  we  took  him  to  the  Hardens'  to  dinner. 
We  were  all  there.  To-day,  Maggy  and  Johnny  made  calls  on 
horseback,  and  we  in  the  '  Gazelle.'  We  took  farewell  of  the  Wat- 
sons. Mr.  Garnet  dines  with  us  at  Elleray,  and  the  boys  at  Lowood 
with  the  Cantabs.  To-morrow  they  go  to  Penny  Bridge,  and  J. 
Ferrier  to  Oxford,  and  I  to  Kendal.  So  expect  rae  by  the  mail  on 
Wednesday,  to  dinner,  at  five,  if  I  get  a  place  at  Carlisle.  I  found 
the  Penny  Bridge  people  were  anxious,  so  I  let  the  bairns  go  to 
them  till  after  the  Hunt  ball ;  and  no  doubt  they  will  be  happy. 
Have  all  tny  newspapers  from  the  '  Opossum'  on  Tuesday  before  I 
arrive.  Tell  Molly  to  get  them  in  a  heap.  Have  a  fire  in  the  front 
drawing-room  and  dining-room,  and  be  a  good  girl  on  my  arrival. 
Have  a  shirt,  etc.,  aired  for  me,  for  I  am  a  rheuniatician  ;  a  fowl 
boiled.  I  got  your  kind  letter  yesterday.  Love  to  Moll  and  Umbs. 
God  bless  you  !     I  am,  your  afFectionate  husband, 

"  JoHNXY  Wilson." 

"  Elleray,  Monday,  1830. 

'*  My  dearest  Jane  : — I  had  a  letter  this  morning  from  Maggy, 
dated  Saturday,  Bangor  Ferry,  all  icell ;  and  I  supjtose  that  she 
would  write  to  you  some  day.  She  told  me  not  of  her  plans,  but  I 
understand  from  Belfield,  that  the  party  are  expected  there  on 
Thursday.  I  think  I  shall  stay  till  she  arrives.  We  dined  at 
Penny  Bridge  on  Thursday,  having  called  at  Hollow  Oak,  and 
found  all  the  family  at  both  places  well. 

"  Miss  Penny  is  looking  very  well.  We  returned  that  night  to 
Elleray.  On  Friday,  for  the  first  time — no,  for  the  second — we 
took  a  sail  in  the  '  Gazelle,'  the  Thomsons'  boat,  for  an  hour  or  two, 
and  then  dined  in  a  body  at  Lowood.  On  Saturday  we  rode  (all 
five)  to  Grasmere,  walked  up  Easdale — fell  in  with  a  man  and  his 
wife,  or  love-lady — Englishers  apparently,  named  Brodie,  who  were 
anxious  to  see  Langdale.  We  told  them  to  join  us,  and  all  seven 
rode  to  the  head  of  it,  across  by  Blea-Tarn,  and  down  little  Lang- 
dale  to  Ambleside. 


332  MEMOm    OF    JOHN    WILSON. 

"  It  was  a  delightful  clay  as  to  weather,  and  we  enjoyed  ourselves 
considerably. 

"At  Ambleside,  where  we  arrived  about  half-past  six,  we  dined 
in  great  strength.  The  Carr  surgeon,  the  Costelloe  ditto,  John 
Harden,  Fletcher  Fleming,  another  person,  I  think,  and  ourselves 
five.  I  got  home  about  twelve,  all  steady,  Sunday,  that  is  yester- 
day, was  one  of  the  most  complete  things  of  the  kind  I  remember 
to  have  seen  ;  and  I  jiresume  the  floods  in  Morayshire  were  in  high 
health  and  spirits.  We  lay  on  sofas  all  day.  To-day,  Momlay,  is 
stormy  and  showery,  and  I  never  left  the  dining-room  great  chair. 
Tell  Mary  to  write  to  me  the  night  she  gets  this,  and  that,  I  think, 
will  be  to-morrow,  and  I  shall  get  it  on  Thursday.  Write  you  om 
Thursday  nighty  and  I  shall  get  it  on  Saturday,  on  which  day  I 
shall  probably  leave  EUeray,  but  I  will  fix  the  day  as  soon  as  Maggy 
comes.  I  shall,  on  my  arrival,  have  plenty  to  do  to  get  ready  for 
November  4th  ;  so  shall  not  most  probably  go  to  Chiefswood  at 
all.  Hartley  Coleridge  came  here  on  Saturday,  and  is  looking  well 
and  steady.  He  sends  his  kindest  regards  to  you,  Mary,  and  Umbs. 
Do  you  wish  me  to  bring  Maggy  with  me  ?  Yours,  most  affec- 
tionately, J.  Wilson. 

"  I  got  your  kind  letter  duly  this  morning." 

"  Dearest  Moll  : — Write  me  a  long  letter,  and  on  Wednesday 
night,  if  you  have  not  time  on  Tuesday.  Give  my  love  to  your 
Mamma  and  Umbs.     Your  affectionate  father,  J.  W." 

Next  year  he  paid  another  visit  to  Westmoreland,  from  which  he 
■writes  to  his  wife  : — 

"Pen'xy  Bridge,  Sunday,  2Q,th  Sept^lfiZl. 

"  My  dear  Jane  : — I  delayed  visiting  this  place  with  Mary  till  I 
could  leave  EUeray,  without  interruption,  for  a  couple  of  days.  T. 
Hamilton  stayed  with  us  a  fortnight,  and,  as  he  came  a  week  later, 
anil  stayed  a  week  longer  than  he  intended,  so  has  my  return  to 
Edinburgh  been  inevitably  prevented.  Mary  and  I  came  here  on 
Thursday,  since  which  hour  it  has  never  ceased  raining  one  minute, 
nor  hus  one  of  the  family  been  out  of  doors.  They  are  all  well,  in- 
cluding Mrs.  and  Miss  Hervey,  who  have  been  staying  about  a 
nioniii.  It  now  threatens  to  be  fair,  and  I  purpose  setting  off  by 
and  by  on  foot  to  EUeray,  a  Avalk  oi  fifteen  miles,  which  perhaj»s 
may  do  me  good  ;  but  if  I  feel  tired  at  Newby  Brid  ;e,  I  will  take 


LITERARY    AND    DOMESTIC    T.IKE.  333 

a  boat  or  chaise.  Mary  I  leave  at  Penny  Bridge  for  another  week. 
The  boys  will  join  her  here  next  Thursday,  and  remain  till  the 
Monday  following,  when  they  will  all  return  to  Windermere.  On 
that  Monday,  Mary  will  go  to  Itayrig  for  two  days  or  three,  and 
either  on  Thursday  or  Friday  arrive  together  in  Edinburgh.  I  and 
Gibb  will  most  probably  be  in  Edinburgh  on  Thursday  Jirst^  unless 
I  find  any  business  to  detain  me  at  Elleray  for  another  day,  on  my 
return  there  to-night.  If  so,  you  will  hear  from  me  on  Wednesday. 
As  Mary  wrote  a  long  letter  on  Tuesday  last,  full,  I  presume,  of 
news,  1  have  nothing  to  communicate  in  that  line.  Birkbeck  has 
been  at  Elleray  for  two  or  three  days,  and  Johnny  says  he  expects 
Stoddart,  who  perhaps  may  be  there  on  my  return  to-night.  We 
all  went  to  the  Kendal  ball,  which  the  young  people  seemed  to  en- 
joy. Twenty-six  went  from  Bowness,  forming  the  majority  of  the 
rank  and  beauty.  I  hope  you  have  been  all  quite  well  since  I  saw 
you,  as  all  letters  seem  to  indicate,  and  that  I  shall  find  yon  all  well 
on  my  return.  A  severe  winter  lies  before  me,  for  I  must  lecture 
on  Political  Economy  this  session,  as  well  as  Moral  Philosophy ; 
.and  that  Magazine  will  also  weigh  heavy  on  me.  I  certainly  can- 
not work  as  I  once  could,  and  feel  easily  wearied  and  worn  down 
with  long  sitting  ;  but  what  must  be  must,  and  toil  I  must,  what- 
ever be  the  consequence.  The  month  betbre  the  Session  opens  will 
be  of  unspeakable  importance  to  me,  to  relieve  if  possible  my  miser- 
able appearance  in  College  beginning  of  last  Session.  I  wish  to  do 
my  duty  in  that  place  at  least,  and  change  and  exposure  there  are 
hard  to  bear,  and  of  infinite  loss  to  my  interests.  I  feel  great  unea- 
siness and  i)ain  very  often  from  the  complaint  I  spoke  of;  but  how 
else  can  I  do  what  is  necessary  for  me  to  do  ?  Whatever  be  the 
consequence,  and  however  severe  the  toil,  I  must  labor  this  winter 
like  a  galley-slave  ;  and  since  it  is  for  us  all,  in  that  at  least,  I  shall 
be  doing  what  is  at  once  right  and  difficult,  and  in  itself  deserving 
of  commendation.  If  I  fall  through  it,  it  shall  only  be  with  my  life, 
or  illness  beyond  my  strength  to  bear  up  against.  I  hope  Maggy's 
playing  the  guitar  and  singing  frequently,  and  that  Umbs  is  a  good 
boy.  Kindest  love  to  theni.  I  shoulil  like  to  have  a  few  kind  lines 
from  you,  written  on  Monday,  the  evening  you  receive  this,  and 
seni  to  post-otfice  then.  I  may,  or  rather  must  miss  then),  but  if 
any  thing  prevents  it  I  shall  conclude  you  are  undoubtedly  all  well. 
You  need  not  send  any  newspapers  after  recei  t  of  this,  but  please 


334:  MEMOIR    OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

to  keep  them  together.  Do  not  say  any  thing  about  my  motions  to 
the  Blackwootls,  as  I  wish  to  be  at  home  a  day  or  two  incog.  I 
>ihall  get  my  room  done  up  when  I  arrive,  which  will  save  me  trou- 
ble perhaps  afterwards  in  looking  out  for  papers.  Mary  is  getting 
Hit,  and  looks  well,  and  the  boys  are  all  right.  I  am,  my  dearesi 
Jane,  yours  ever  affectionately,  John  "Wilson." 

Two  days  later  he  writes  : — 

"My  dear  Jane  : — I  expect  to  be  at  home  on  Friday  per  mail, 
or  'Peveril,'  to  dinner.  I  purpose  riding  over  to  Penrith  with 
Garnet  on  the  ponies  on  Wednesday,  and  thence  on,  which  saves 
me  Kendal,  a  place  abhorred.  The  family  leave  Elleray  that  day 
for  Penny  Bridge.  I  was  so  knocked  up  with  my  walk  therefrom 
as  to  be  stiff  and  lame  yet.  My  walking  day  is  over.  The  shrubs 
in  the  entrance  are  all  well,  but  too  tall,  and  want  to  be  cut  over. 
The  myrtle  is  in  excellent  health  and  beauty,  though  it  seems  less.* 
Charlief  is  in  high  glee  and  condition.  The  avenue  is  beautiful,  and 
the  gate  pretty,  the  low  walls  being  covered  with  ivy,  and  other 
odoriferous  plants  and  parasites.  The  ponies  and  cows  are  all  well- 
to-do,  five  of  the  former  and  two  of  the  latter.  Of  the  five  former, 
one  is  an  'unter,  and  two  are  staigs.  I  called  to-day  at  the  Wood, 
and  found  all  the  Watsons  well.  I  have  frequently  done  so.  I 
have  not  been  in  Ambleside  since  Hamilton  left  us ;  and  we  have 
seen  nobody  for  a  long  time,  it  being  supposed  that  I  am  gone, 
whereas  I  am  just  going.  I  wish  no  dinner  on  Friday,  but  a  fool, 
as  F.  calls  it.  Mary  is  to  write  to  you  on  Friday  next,  so  you  will 
hear  of  the  boys  a  day  later  than  by  the  Professor.  AYeir  nr.ist 
have  been  a  bore.  I  like  Otter  ;  Starky  is  in  treaty  for  Brathay  fur 
nineteen  years.  He  is  seventy-two.  Rover  is  pretty  bobbish. 
Star  is  at  Oldfield  in  high  spirits,  and  neighs  as  often  as  we  pass 
the  farm.  Love  to  Maggy  and  Umbs.  I  expect  to  find  you  all 
well,  and  if  possible  alone  and  in  good  humor  on  Friday,  for  I  shall 
be  very  tired.  Stoddart  brought  letters.  I  opened  Mag's  and 
yours,  but  not  the  other  two,  which  being  about  eating  had  no 
charms.     Yours  affectionately,  J.  Wilson." 

That  the  Magazine  did  weigh  heavily  upon  him  I  do  no'  wonder, 

•  The  myrtle  was  my  mothers  favorite  jilaut. 
t  A  tiKUiicl  lielonjjing  to  Diy  mother. 


LITERARY    AND    DOMESTIC    LIFE.  335 

as  be  had  already  written  twenty  articles  during  1831,  five  of  which 
were  in  the  Au<fust  number. 

During  this  year,  too,  he  coniinenced  tliose  noble  critical  essays 
on  "  Homer  and  his  Translators,"*  which  scholars  have  reniarked 
"contain  the  most  vivid  and  genial  criticisms  in  our  own  or  any 
other  language. "f  I  believe  tieep  thought  and  careful  philosophi- 
cal inquiry,  combined  with  stirring  vivacity,  are  nowhere  more 
attractively  displayed  than  in  these  essays  of  my  father.  But  not 
to  the  learned  alone  do  they  give  delight,  for  my  humble  admira- 
tion makes  me  turn  to  them  again  and  again. 

The  following  letter  from  Mr.  Sotheby,  relating  to  these  papers, 
may  come  in  here  : — 

"13  Lower  Grosvevor  Place,  October  8,  18.'51. 

"  My  dear  Sir  : — One  month,  two  months,  three  months'  griev- 
ous disappointment,  intolerable  disappointment.  Homer  and  his  tail, 
Chapman,  Pope,  and  Sotheby  in  dim  eclipse.  What  becomes  of 
the  j)romise  solemnly  given  to  the  public,  that  the  vases  of  good 
and  evil,  impartially  ])Oured  forth  by  your  balancing  hand,  were  ere 
Christmas  to  determine  our  fate?  I  long  doubted  whether  I 
should  trouble  you  with  a  letter,  but  the  decided  opinion  of  our 
friend  Lockhart  decided  mc.  And  now  hear,  I  pray,  in  confidence, 
why  I  am  peculiarly  anxious  for  the  completion  of  your  admirable 
remarks. 

"  I  propose,  ere  long,  to  publish  the  Odyssey,  and  shall  gratity 
myself  by  sending  you,  as  a  specimen  of  it,  the  eleventh  book.  It 
will  contain,  inter  alia,  a  sop  for  the  critics,  deeply  soaked  in  the 
blood  of  a  fair  heifer  and  a  sable  ram,  and  among  swarms  of  spirits, 
the  images  of  the  heroes  of  the  Iliad,  completing  the  tale  of  Troy 
divine.  After  the  publication  of  the  Odyssey,  it  is  my  intent,  by 
the  utmost  diligence  and  labor,  to  correct  the  Iliad,  and  to  endeavor 
1o  render  it  less  unworthy  of  the  praise  you  have  been  pleased  to 
confer  on  it.  Of  your  praise  I  am  justly  proud  ;  yet  for  my  future 
object,  I  am  above  measure  desirous  of  the  benefit  of  your  cen- 
sures. The  remarks  (however  flattering)  with  which  I  have  been 
honored  by  others,  are  less  valuable  to  me  than  your  censures  ;  of 
this,  the  proof  will  be  evident  in  the  subsequent  edition. 

*  The  first  apiiearcd  in  April,  fulIowtMl  by  Numbers  2  and  8,  in  M:iy  and  .Tuly.  In  Ausiist,  n 
critique  on  the  Atrnmeinnon  of  .Esohylus  interrupted  the  essays,  but  they  were  resumed  again  ill 
l)<eeruber,  continued  at  intcrviils  from  1S3'2  to  1S;14.  making  in  all  seven  papers. 

t  Oiadstones  Studies  on  lloiner  mid  the  Ifoineric  Aye. 


336  MEMOIR   OF   JOHN    \\^LSON. 

"You  must  not,  you  cannot  leave  your  work  incomplete.  How 
resist  the  night  expedition  of  Diomede  and  Ulysses  ? — Hector 
bursting  tlie  rampart — Juno  and  the  Ccstus — Hector  rushing  ou, 
like  the  stalled  liorse  snapping  the  cord — Tlie  death  of  iSarpedon — 
The  consternation  of  the  Trojans  at  the  mere  appearance  of  tlie 
armed  Achilles — The  Vulcanian  armor — Achilles  mourning  over 
Patroclus — The  conclusion  of  the  twentieth  book — The  lamenta- 
tions of  Priam,  and  Hecuba,  and,  above  all,  of  Andromache — Priam 
at  the  feet  of  Achilles — Andromache's  lamentation,  and  Helen's 
(oh,  that  lovely  Helen  !)  over  the  corse  of  Hector — can  these  and 
innumerable  other  passages  be  resisted  by  the  poet  of  the  '  City  of 
the  Plague  V     No,  no,  no. 

"  In  sooth,  I  must  say,  I  had  lK)])e  tliat  at  Christmas  I  might  hnve 
collected,  and  printed  for  private  distribution,  or,  far  rather,  pub- 
lished, for  public  delight  and  benefit,  with  your  express  permission, 
the  several  critiques  in  one  body,  and  then  presented  to  the  world 
a  work  of  criticism  unparalleled. 

"  I  dine  this  day  at  Lockhart's,  with  my  old  and  dear  friend,  Sir 
Walter.  His  health  has  improved  since  his  arrival.  Perhaps  your 
cheeks  may  burn.  I  beg  the  flivor  of  hearing  from  you.  I  remain, 
my  dear  sir,  most  sincerely  yours,  Wm.  Sotukbv."* 

Miss  Watson,  the  writer  of  the  following  letter,  wasahuly  whose 
name  can  scarcely  be  permitted  to  pass  without  some  n»)ti(e.  Slie 
was  eldest  daughter  of  the  Bishop  of  Llaiulaff,  and  a  woman  of  high 
mental  attainments.  When  my  i'ather  resided  as  a  young  man  iu 
Westmoreland,  she  was  then  in  the  flower  of  her  age,  and  in  con- 
stant communion  with  the  bright  spirits  who  at  that  time  made  the 
Lake  country  so  celebrated.  JMr.  De  Quincey,  in  writing  of  Cliarles 
Lloyd,  and  mentioning  Miss  Watson  as  his  frii-nd,  says  she  "  was  an 
accomplislu'd  student  in  that  very  department  of  literature  which 
he  most  cultivated,  namely,  all  that  class  of  works  which  deal  in  the 
analysis  of  human  passions.  That  they  corresponded  in  French, 
that  the  letters  on  l)oth  sides  Avere  full  of  spirit  and  originality." 
Miss  Watson's  life,  with  all  the  advantages  which  arise  from  a 
highly  endowed  nature,  was  but  a  sad  one,  for  her  temperament  was 
liabitually  melancholy,  and  her  liealth  delicate.  She  has  long  siiu-e 
found  repose.     The  speech   which  she  alludes  to  in  her  letter,  was 

•  Williiim  Si'Uieby,  born  November  9,  1757;  died  December  80,  1883. 


I.ITEKAKY    AND   DOMESTIC    LIFE.  337 

one  made  by  Professor  "Wilson  at  a  public  meeting  which  had  been 
projected  by  a  number  of  individuals,  to  give  vent  to  their  senti- 
menls  upon  the  eflect  of  the  reform  measures  in  the  contemplation 
of  Government : 

*^  December  3,  1831. 

"  My  dear  Professor  : — I  suppose  it  is  to  yourself  I  owe  the 
Edinburii^h  papers  containing  your  own  eloquent  and  elegant  speech. 
Many  thanks  ;  I  admire  it  much.  If  you  were  not  born  a  prince 
you  deserve  to  be  one.  Mr.  ]5olton  was  here  when  I  was  reading 
it,  and  he  said,  '  I  do  assure  you,  Miss  Watson,  that  Mr.  Canning 
never  made  a  finer  speech,  and  I  shall  driiik  the  Professor's  health  in 
a  bumper  to-day.'  I  really  am  not  capable  of  understanding  what 
Englishmen  mean  by  all  this  nonsense.  We  are  like  the  Bourbons, 
of  whom  it  may  be  said,  'that  they  had  learnt  nothing  by  the 
Fi'ench  Revolution.'  Is  it  possible  that  the  system  of  equality  (at 
wlii(.h  a  chijd  of  five  years  old  might  laugh)  can  still  delude  the 
minds  of  men  now?  I  liave  no  news  worth  sending;  all  is  quiet 
The  cholera  frightens  no  one.  We  laugh  at  it  as  a  good  joke.  Goc^ 
help  our  merry  hearts  !  there  is  something  ludicrous  in  it,  I  suppose, 
which  I  can't  find  out.  Blackwood  sent  me  Robert  of  Paris^  etc., 
which  I  am  very  much  pleased  to  have.  I  have  not  begun  it  yet; 
indeed,  I  am  not  well,  nor  would  have  sent  you  so  dull  a  letter,  but 
that  I  could  not  delay  saying  how  much  I  was  gratified  by  the  papers. 
Ever  believe  me  yours  aftectionntely,  D.  Watsox. 

"  Kind  remembrances  to  Mrs.  Wilson  and  Margaret.  It  is  bitter, 
bitter  cold  in  this  pretty  house.  As  for  you  and  the  Shepherd  (to 
w'liom  I  would  send  my  thanks  for  the  most  gratifying  letter  I  ever 
leceived,  but  that  it  is  rather  too  late  in  the  day),  I  advise  you  both 
to  shut  yourselves  up  in  Ambrose's  for  a  month  to  come,  and  keep 
clear  of  all  the  nonsense  that  will  be  going  on  in  the  shape  of  Re- 
form ;  and  every  night  put  down  your  conversation,  and  let  me  sec 
it  in  Blackioood.  You  shall  be  two  philosophers  enchanted  like 
Durandarte,  and  not  to  be  disenchanted  till  all  is  over.  Truly  I  do 
think  you  eat  too  many  oysters!  How  much  I  do  like  those 
'  Xoctes.'  Write  one,  and  let  it  be  a  good  one.  Wordsworth  says 
'that  the  booksellers  are  all  aghast!  and  that  another  dark  age  i:J 
coming  on.'  I  think  he  is  not  far  wrong.  He  is  a  wonderful  crea- 
lure  when  he  will  deign  to  be  what  nature  made  him,  not  artifici-il 
societv.     He  read  one  of  his  poems  to  me.     The  subject  Avas  some 


338  Mi:Mt)IU    OF    JOHN    ^\■II.^50X 

gold-fish,  but  tlic  latter  stanzas  were  magnificent !  Oh,  what  a  pity 
it  is  to  see  so  noble  a  creature  condescending  to  be  the  ass  of  La 
Fontaine's  Fable!  Adieu!  I  have  written  beyond  my  power  of 
hand.  I  would  rather  far  listen  to  you  than  write  to  you.  I  can- 
not noAV  make  up  a  letter,  but  my  heart  is  still  the  same.  It  was 
the  only  talent  I  ever  possessed  in  this  world.  It  must  be  hid  under 
a  bushel.  How  is  Mrs.  Hamilton  ?  I  am  ashamed  to  send  such  a 
scrawl,  but  indeed  I  am  very  poorly,  as  the  old  nurses  say." 

Tlie  following  passages  from  the  Professor's  oration,  which,  on 
referring  to  the  papers,  I  see  was  the  speech  of  the  day,  are  worth 
reproducing.  He  said,  among  other  good  things,  that  "  Often  have 
I  heard  it  said,  and  have  my  eyes  loathed  to  see  it  written,  that  we 
of  tlie  great  Conservative  party  are  enemies  of  education,  and  have 
no  love  for  what  are  called  the  lower  orders — orders  who,  when 
their  duties  are  nobly  performed,  are,  in  my  humble  estimation,  as 
high  as  that  in  which  any  human  being  can  stand.  I  repel  the 
calumny.  I  myself  belong  to  no  high  family.  I  had  no  patronage 
beyond  what  my  own  honorable  character  gave  me.  I  have  slept 
in  the  cottages  of  hundreds  of  the  poor.  I  have  sat  by  the  cotter's 
ingle  on  the  Saturday  night,  and  seen  the  gray-haired  patriarch  with 
pleasure  unfold  the  sacred  page — the  solace  of  his  humble  but  hon- 
orable life.  I  have  even  faintly  tried  to  shadow  forth  the  lights  and 
shades  of  their  character ;  and  it  is  said  I  belong  to  that  class  who 
hate  and  despise  the  people.  .  .  .  Must  I  allow  my  understand- 
ing to  be  stormed  by  such  arguments  as  that  the  chief  business  of 
poor  men  is  to  attend  to  politics,  or  their  best  happiness  to  be  found 
in  elections  ?  I  know  far  better  that  he  has  duties  imposed  on  him 
by  nature,  and,  if  his  heart  is  right  and  his  head  clear,  while  he  is  not 
indiflercnt  to  such  subjects,  there  are  a  hundred  other  duties  he  must 
perform  far  more  important;  he  may  be  reading  one  book,  which 
tells  iiini  in  what  happiness  consists,  but  to  M'hich  I  have  seen  but 
few  allusions  made  by  the  reformers  in  modern  times.  In  reading 
those  weathei'-stained  pages,  on  which,  perhaps,  the  sun  of  heaven 
had  looked  blight  while  they  had  been  unfolded  of  old  on  the  hill- 
si<le  by  his  forefathers  of  the  Covenant ;  when,  environed  with  peril 
and  death,  he  is  taught  at  once  religion  towards  his  Maker,  and  not 
to  forget  the  love  and  duty  he  owes  to  mankind  ;  to  prefer  deeper 
interests,  because  everlastint;,  to  those  little  turbulences  which  now 


LITERARY    AND    DOMKSTIC    I.IFK.  339 

agitate  the  surface  of  society,  but  whicli,  I  hope,  will  soon  subside 
into  a  calm,  and  leave  the  country  peaceful  as  before."* 

1  fear,  however,  hi.s  political  opponents,  in  that  time  of  madness, 
did  not  look  upon  his  Avords  witli  the  same  loving  eyes  as  his  ami- 
able corresi)ondent,  as  I  see  in  a  letter  of  my  father's  at  this  time  a 
reference  to  a  rhyming  criticism  of  the  Conservative  proceedings  any 
thing  but  flattering,  from  which  I  give  two  lines  as  a  specimen  : — 

"  The  Professor  got  up  and  spoke  of  sobriety, 
Religion,  the  Bible,  and  moral  propriety." 

"  I  nc^ed  not  point  out  to  your  disgust,"  parenthetically  observes  the 
Professor  to  a  friend,  "  the  insinuations  conveyed  in  that  wretched 
doggerel,  nor  express  my  own  that  they  could  have  been  published 
by  a  man  who  has  frequently  had  the  honor  of  sitting  at  my  table, 
and  of  witnessing  my  character  in  the  domestic  circle." 

In  this  excited  period  I  tind  ladies  writing  strongly  on  political 
matters.  For  example,  even  the  gentle  spirit  of  my  mother  is 
roused.  She  says  to  my  aunt : — "  I  hope  you  are  as  much  disgusted 
and  grieved  as  we  all  are  with  the  passing  of  this  accursed  Reform 
Bill.  I  never  look  mto  a  newspaper  now;  but  we  shall  see  what 
they  will  make  of  it  by  and  by." 

Among  my  father's  contributions  to  the  Magazine  this  year,  there 
appeared  in  the  May  number  an  article  which  attracted  considerable 
attention.  It  was  a  review  of  Mr.  Tennyson's  Poems, f  the  first 
edition  of  which  had  appeared  two  years  previously.  The  critique 
was  severe,  yet  kindly  and  discriminating.  The  writer  remarking 
good-humoredly  at  its  close,  "  In  correcting  it  for  the  press,  we  pee 
that  its  whole  merit,  Avhich  is  great,  consists  in  the  extracts,  which 
are  'beautiful  exceedingly.'  Perhaps  in  the  first  part  of  our  article 
we  may  have  exaggerated  Mr.  Tennyson's  not  unfrequent  silliness, 
for  we  are  apt  to  be  carried  away  by  the  whim  of  the  moment,  and, 
in  our  humorous  moods,  many  things  wear  a  queer  look  to  our  aged 
<>yes  which  fill  young  |)upils  with  tears  ;  but  we  feel  assured  that  in 
the  second  part  we  have  not  exaggerated  his  strength,  and  that  we 
have  done  no  more  than  justice  to  his  fine  faculties."  It  says  much 
for  the  critic's  discriminating  power  that  he  truly  foretold  of  the 
fiture  Laureate,  that  the  day  would  come  when,  bjueath  sun  and 

•  Edinburgh  Advertiser,  Nov.  29,  1S31. 

i  Poema,(Jiie/lij  Lt/fical.    By  Alfied  Ti'iinyson.    London  :  E.  Wilson.    1880. 


340  MEMOIR   OF    JOHN    WILSON. 

shower,  his  genius  would  grow  up  and  expand  into  a  stately  tree, 
embowering  a  solemn  shade  within  its  wide  circumference,  and  that 
millions  would  confirm  his  judgment  "that  Alfred  Tennyson  is  a 
poet."  The  young  poet,  although  evidently  nettled,*  received  the 
criticism  in  good  part,  and  profited  by  it.  On  reading  the  paper 
once  more,  I  observe  that,  with  scarcely  a  single  exception,  the 
verses  condemned  by  the  critic  were  omitted  or  altered  in  after 
editions.f 

In  June,  1832,  my  mother  writes  : — "Mr.  Wilson  has  long  and 
earnestly  wished  to  have  a  cruise  with  the  experimental  squadron, 
which  I  believe  will  sail  by  the  end  of  this  month ;  but  unfortunately 
he  Avas  late  in  applying  to  Sir  P.  Malcolm." 

In  July  he  left  home  for  the  purpose  of  joining  the  squadron,  and 
the  result  of  his  naval  experience  will  be  found  in  the  following 
communications  sent  from  time  to  time  to  Mrs.  Wilson : 

"  Union  Hotel,  Charing  Cross, 
Wednesday,  July  11,  1832. 
"  My  dearest  Jane  : — I  have  received  your  favor  of  last  Satur- 
day, and  rejoice  to  find  that  you  are  all  well,  and  in  as  good  spirits 
as  can  be  expected  during  my  absence.  Had  I  known  what  bustle 
and  V)otheration  I  should  be  exposed  to,  I  hardly  think  I  should 
have  left  Edinburgh.  Every  day  gives  a  diflTerent  account  of  the 
movement  of  the  squadron.  The  '  Vernon,'  who  is  at  Woolwich, 
wa-s  to  have  dropt  down  to-day  to  Sheerness,  but  it  is  put  off  till 
Friday,  and  even  that  is  uncertain.  She  has  then  to  get  all  her 
guns  and  powder  on  board,  and  her  sails  set,  and  other  things,  which 
will  take  some  days,  I  guess ;  and  this  morning  it  is  said  the  squad- 

•  In  the  edition  of  his  poems,  published  in  1833,  the  following  somewhat  puerile  lines  appeared, 
which  I  quote  as  a  literary  curiosity  : — 

"  TO  CIIKI8T0PIIEK  NORTH. 

"  You  did  late  review  my  lays. 
Crusty  Christopher ; 
You  did  mingle  blame  with  praise, 

Kusty  Christopher: 
Wlien  I  learned  from  whom  It  came, 
I  forgave  you  all  the  blame, 

Musty  Christopher; 
I  could  not  forgive  the  praise, 
Fusty  Christopher." 
t  "  The  National  Song ;"  "  English  War  Song ;"  **  We  aro  Free  ;"  "  Love,  Pride,  and  Forgetful- 
hess ;"  Sonnet,  "  Shall  the  h.ag  Evil,"  &c. ;  "  The  '  How'  and  the  '  Why ;' "  " The  Kruken,"  Ac.  Ac, 
tie  all  consigned  to  oliliviou,  or  to  our  acquisitive  brethren  on  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic,  whl 
may  have  preserved  these  yoiithf;il  etlusions  iu  the  American  editions. 


I 


CRUISE    WITH    THE    EXPERIMENTAL    6QUADRJN.  341 

ron  are  to  meet  at  Plymouth.  All  this  keeps  me  in  a  quandary, 
and  I  have  not  been  able  to  see  Sir  F.  Collier,  the  captain  of  the 
'Vernon,'  but  possibly  shall  to-morrow.  Since  I  wrote  I  have  been 
again  at  Woolwich,  and  seen  the  officers  of  the  'Vernon.'  They 
were  at  first  rather  alarmed  at  the  idea  of  a  professor,  and  wonder- 
ed what  the  deuce  he  wanted  on  board.  I  understand  that  they 
are  now  in  better  humor ;  but  the  truth  is,  that  pride  is  the  leading 
article  in  the  character  of  all  sailors  on  their  own  ship  ;  and  I  am 
told  these  dons  are  determined  to  take  nobody  else  but  myself. 
Captain  Hope  (not  the  President's  son)  and  Andrew  Hay  were  with 
me  at  Woolwich,  and  there  we  picked  up  Captain  Gray*  of  the 
Marines  (you  will  remember  his  singing),  who  dined  with  us  at 
Greenwich.  I  see  Blair  every  day,  and  pass  my  time  chiefly  with 
offishers^i\\Q  United  Service  Club  being  close  at  hand.  The  literary 
people  here  seem  cockneys.  I  called  yesterday  on  Miss  Landon, 
who  is  really  a  pleasant  girl,  and  seemed  much  flattered  by  the  old 
fellow's  visit.  To-d;iy  Blair  and  I,  along  with  Edward  Moxon, 
(bookseller),  take  coach  for  Enfield  (at  three  o'clock),  to  visit  Charles 
Lamb.  We  return  at  night,  if  there  are  coaches.  On  Thursday,  I 
intend  going  to  the  Thomsons'  down  the  river,  and  shall  call  again 
on  my  way  on  the  '  Vernon,'  to  see  what  is  doing.  Meanwhile,  you 
will  get  this  letter  on  Fridny^  and  be  sure  it  is  answered  that  even- 
ing^ and  sent  to  the  General  Post-Office.  I  shall  thus  hear  from 
you  on  Monday,  and  shall  then  (if  not  olf)  have  to  tell  you  all  our 
future  intentions.  Meanwhile  it  is  reported  that  the  cholera  is  on 
hoard  the  '  Vernon.''  If  so,  I  shall  not  go,  but  proceed  to  the  Tyne. 
But  say  nothing  of  this  to  anybody.  Yesterday  I  visited  Kensing- 
ton Gardens  with  Captain  Hope,  but  saw  nobody  like  Maggy,  Ma- 
ry, Umbs,  and  yourself.  I  met  there  Lord  Haddington,  and  am  to 
dine  with  him,  if  I  can,  before  sailing  ;  but  I  hope  we  shall  be  at 
rendezvous  by  Monday  night.  Tell  Maggy  to  give  me  all  news, 
and  if  you  havfi  heard  again  from  Johnny.  I  will  send  you  in  my 
next  my  direction  when  we  set  sail ;  and  I  am  not  without  hoi)es 
the  squadron  may  land  me  in  Scotland.  Some  say  there  will  be 
fighting,  and  that  the  '  Vernon'  will  lead  the  van,  ])eing,  though  a 
frigate,  as  powerful  as  a  line-of-battle  ship.  I  will  write  to  Ebony 
about  money  for  the  house  aftei-  I  hear  from  Maggy,  and  hope  vou 
will  go  on  pretty  well  till  1  return.    Tell  Maggy  to  be  civil  to  Bob, 

»  Cliail.  s  0.:iy  si--  ]..  102. 


342  MEMOIR   OF   JOHN    WII.SOX, 

and  he  will  be  my  banker  for  small  sums.  I  will  also  semi  a  receipt. 
which  you  will  get  on  the  Qth  of  August^  for  £3u  odd ;  but  I  wiil 
explain  how  in  my  next. 

''Take  good  care  of  all  yourselves,  and  be  good  boys  and  girls, 
liow  to  Mag,  Moll,  and  Uinbs.  As  for  Blair,  he  cuts  me  so  up 
that  I  fear  to  send  him  even  my  compliments.  I  am  glad  to  hejir 
of  Moll's  voice  being  high.  Keep  Mag  to  the  guitar  and  new  songa 
Yours  ever  aftectionately,  John  "Wilsox." 

The  next  is  to  his  daughter  3Iary: — 

"  Uxiox  Hotel,  Charixg  Cross, 
July  16,  1832. 

"  Mt  dear  Mart  : — I  have  received  your  kind  epistle,  and  am 
rather  pleased  to  find  you  all  well.  I  write  these  tew  lines  in  a 
great  hurry,  to  tell  you  to  wraj)  up  in  a  parcel,  two  silver  soup- 
spoons, tico  tea-spootis,  and  tuco  silver  forks,  and  direct  them  to  me 
at  Union  Hotel,  Charing  Cross,  per  mail,  without  delay.  See  them 
booked  at  the  Office.  Young  ladies  take  such  things  to  school,  and 
young  gentlemen,  it  seems,  to  sea.  See  that  the  direction  is  dis- 
tinct. Write  to  me  by  the  same  post,  or  if  any  thing  prevent,  by 
the  one  following ;  but  direct  my  letter,  care  of  Captain  Tatnal, 
No.  5  Park  Terrace,  Greenwich.  I  have  just  time  to  say  God  bless 
you  all,  but  in  a  few  days  will  write  a  long  letter  tellmg  you  of  our 
intended  motions,  as  we  hope  to  be  ofl"  by  the  26th.  Don't  believe 
any  thing  about  the  '  Vernon'  in  any  newspaper.  Be  good  girls 
and  boys  till  my  return,  and  do  not  all  forget  your  old  Dad.  Love 
to  mamma,  and  tell  me  if  you  have  heard  farther  from  Johnny 
Thy  affectionate  father,  J.  Wilson." 

TO  MRS.  "WTLSON. 

"Xo.  2  Paek  Terrace,  Greexwich, 
Friday. 
"Ma  bojtn'e  Citoyenne: — I  am  now  fairly  established  here  in 
lodgings,  that  is,  in  a  room  looking  into  Greenwich  Park,  with 
liberty  to  take  my  meals  in  a  parlor  belonging  to  the  f;miily.  The 
master  thereof  is  a  Frenchman,  and  a  Professor  of  Languages,  and 
tne  house  swarms  with  frogs,  that  is,  children.  I  pay  fourteen 
shillings  a  week  for  lodging,  which  is  a  salutary  change  from  the 
not  el.     T  "lino  with  T.itnal  or   Williams,  or  at  a  sliilUng  ordinary^ 


CKUISE    WITH    THE    EXl'EKIMENTAL    SQUADPwON.  343 

and  hope  to  be  able  to  pay  my  bill  to  Monsieur  Gallois  when  I  take 
my  departure.  I  walk  to  "Woolwich  daily  (three  miles),  and  board 
the  'Vernon,'  who  now  assumes  a  seaward  seeming.  Her  jjun- 
rarriages  are  on  board,  but  not  the  guns  themselves,  which  are  to 
be  taken  in  at  Sheerness.  I  have  seen  Sir  F.  Collier,  who  behaves 
civilly,  but  he  cannot  comprehend  what  I  want  on  board  the  '  Ver- 
non,' neither  can  I.  Her  destination  is  still  unknown,  but  she  is  to 
have  marines  and  artillerymen  on  board,  which  smells  of  fighting. 
But  with  whom  are  we  to  figlit  ?  My  own  opinion  is,  that  we  are 
going  to  cruise  oflf  Ireland,  and  to  land  troops  at  Cork.  Williams 
thinks  we  are  going  to  Madeira,  to  look  after  an  American  frigate, 
and  Tatnal  talks  of  the  Greek  Islands.  Meanwhile,  Sir  P.  Malcolm, 
I  hear,  is  enraged  at  being  kept  tossing  about  in  the  '  Donegal,' 
without  knowing  why  or  wherefore ;  and  nobody  knows  where  the 
'  Orestes'  has  gone.  The  '  Tyne'  sails  to-morrow  for  Plymouth. 
The  'Vernon,'  it  is  thought,  cannot  be  off  before  the  27th,  so  that 
there  will  be  time  to  write  me  again  before  I  go  to  sea.  You  will 
get  tliis  on  Mon<lay  morning,  and  I  hope  some  of  you  Avill  answer 
it  that  night.  Direct  it  to  me  at  Captain  Tatnal's,  No.  5  Park 
Terrace,  Greenwich,  in  case  I  should  be  off.  If  our  destination  be 
merely  Ireland,  there  is  every  probability  of  our  touching  at  some 
Scotch  port.  I  have  been  several  times  at  Sir  Henry  Blackwood's, 
in  Regent  Park ;  pleasant  family,  and  fashionable.  I  forgot  if  I 
mentioned  that  I  went  to  the  Opera,  singing  and  dancing,  and  tout- 
ensemble  beautiful.  A  Miss  Doyle  (a  Paddy  about  thirty-five),  at 
Sir  H.  B.'s,  plays  the  harp  ten  times  better  than  Taylor.  She  is 
held  to  be  the  finest  harpist  we  have.  Miss  Blackwood  is  very 
pretty,  and  clever.  I  go  up  to  town  to-day  to  dine  with  Mrs. 
Burke,  and  to-morrow  a  party  of  us  eat  white  bait  at  the  '  Crown 
and  Sceptre'  here.  Besides  the  '  Vernon,'  there  are  lying  at  Wool- 
wich two  new  gun-brigs,  also  built  by  Symonds,  called  the  '  Snake' 
and  the  '  Serpent.'  They  go  with  us  to  compete  with  the  '  Orestes.' 
The  squadron,  therefore,  at  first,  will  consist  of  the  'Donegal,'  SJ, 
the  '  Vernon,'  50,  the  '  Castor,'  44,  the  '  Tyne,'  28,  the  '  Orestes,' 
'Serpent,'  and  'Snake,'  18;  and  we  expect  to  be  joined  by  the 
'Britannia'  and  'Caledonia,'  120;  but  that  is  uncertain.  The 
hatred  felt  for  the  '  Vernon'  is  wide  and  deep,  and  all  the  old  fogies 
predict  she  will  ca])size  in  a  squall.  Tiiis  is  all  owing  to  her  incom- 
parable beauty.     Yuu  have  just  to  imagine  the  'Endeavor'  raagni 


344  MKMOIU    OF   JOHN    ■SVILSON. 

fied,  and  you  see  lier  hull,  only  she  is  sharper.  She  is  very  -wile 
ill  proportiou  to  her  length,  and  also  deep  ;  so  the  devil  himself 
will  not  be  able  to  ujiset  or  sink  her.  She  has  the  masts  and  spars 
of  a  74,  and  yet  they  seem  light  as  lady-fern.  I  am  sorry,  however, 
to  say,  that  there  have  been  twelve  cases  of  cholera  on  board,  and 
three  deaths.  The  disease,  however,  is  now  over,  and  I  have  no 
dt)ubt  arose  from  the  dreadful  heat  of  the  Aveather  acting  on  the 
new  paint.  She  is  now  dry  as  a  whistle,  and  the  crew  is  the  finest 
ever  seen.  I  hope  you  will  get  up  a  long  letter  among  you  in  reply 
to  this,  and  I  shall  be  expecting  it  anxiously,  as  the  last  I  can  re- 
ceive for  some  time.  I  will  write  again  before  one  o'clock,  sending 
you  my  direction,  and  also  a  receipt,  which  will  enable  you  to  get 
some  money,  I  think,  on  the  6th  of  August.  Be  sure  to  tell  me  of 
Johnny,  and  when  he  returns  I  hope  he  will  write  me  an  account 
of  his  route  and  his  exploits.  Blair,  too,  might  write  me  a  letter,  I 
think.  Kindest  love  to  them  all.  Keep  M.aggie  at  her  music,  and 
tell  me  how  Molly  is  getting  on  with  Miss  Paton.  Perhaps  Umbs 
has  a  voice !  Tell  her  to  try.  Compliments  to  Rover.*  God  bless 
you  all,  and  believe  me,  dearest  Jane,  yours  ever  most  affectionately, 

"  JouN  Wilson." 

"  SUEERNESS,  August  4,  1832. 

"  My  dearest  Jane  : — I  have  delayed  writing  to  you  from  day 
to  day,  in  hourly  expectation  of  being  able  to  tell  you  something 
decisive  of  our  mysterious  motions,  but  am  still  in  ignorance.  In  a 
few  days  you  may  expect  another  and  very  long  epistle  ;  but  I 
write  now  just  to  say  that  Ave  are  Aveighing  anchor  from  Slieerness 
for  the  Nore,  and  that  to-morrow  we  set  sail  doAvn  the  Channel, 
either  for  Cork  or  Madeira,  or  somcAvhere  else,  for  nobody  knows 
Avhere.  I  never  kncAv  what  noise  Avas,  till  I  got  on  board  the  'Ver- 
non.' But  all  goes  on  Avell ;  the  particulars  in  my  next.  I  enclose 
you  a  five-pound  note  just  to  pay  the  postage.  I  cannot  get  on 
shore,  else  I  would  send  a  stamp  for  some  money  due  to  me  on  the 
6ih.  ]?ut  I  Avill  send  it  first  port  Ave  touch  on.  MeauAvhile  Maggy 
must,  when  necessary,  get  a  small  supply  from  Bob. 

"  You  Avill  not  think  this  short  letter  unkind,  for  we  are  ordered 
off  in  li;ilf  an  hour.  You  may  depend  on  my  next  being  rathei 
amusing. 

*  One  of  llii-  Jojfs. 


CRUISE    WITH    THE    EXPERIMENTAL    SQCADROX.  345 

"  I  shall  be  most  anxious  to  hear  from  you,  and  of  you  all,  imme- 
diately. You  are  all  at  leisure,  and  must  get  up  a  long  joint  letter, 
telling  me  of  every  thing.  Get  a  long  sheet  from  Ebony,  and  cioss 
it  all  over.  Enclose  it  (directed  to  me  in  IT.  M.  S.  'Vernon')  to  Mr. 
Barrow,  Admiralty,  and  he  will  transmit  it  duly.  Do  not  lose  time. 
God  bless  you  all,  one  and  all,  and  believe  me,  my  dearest  Jane,  ever 
yours  affectionately,  John  Wilson." 

" ,  1832. 

"  My  dearest  Jane  : — I  wrote  to  you  a  few  days  ago  from 
Sheerness,  and  now  seize  another  hour  to  inform  of  our  motions 
since  I  wrote  from  London.  I  found  my  lodgings  at  Greenwich 
very  comfortable,  but  experienced  almost  as  many  interruptions 
there  as  in  town.  I  dined  with  Charles  Barney  one  day,  and  found 
the  family  the  kindest  of  the  kind,  and  pleasant.  I  forget  if  I  told 
you  that  the  Literary  Union  gave  me  a  dinner,  with  T.  Campbell  in 
the  chair.  At  last,  after  many  a  weary  delay,  the  '  Vernon'  left 
Woolwich  on  Sunday,  20th  July.,  in  tow  of  two  steaml)oats,  which 
took  her  to  the  Nore.  On  Monday,  30th,  she  was  taken  into  dock 
at  Sheerness,  and  then,  after  some  repairs  in  her  copper,  anchored 
within  cable-length  of  the  'Ocean,'  of  100  guns.  Some  of  us 
amused  ourselves  with  walking  about  the  jdace  ;  but  it  is  somewhat 
dullish,  though  the  docks,  etc.,  are  splendid.  On  Tuesday.,  2>\s^  we 
took  our  guns  on  board,  lifty  32-pounders,  the  method  of  doing 
which  was  interesting  to  me,  who  had  never  seen  it  before  ;  and 
then  lunched  with  the  officers  of  the  '  Ocean,'  and  inspected  that 
magnificent  ship  '  The  Flag  Ship' — Admiral  Sir  J.  Beresford.  I 
dined  with  the  Admiral  in  his  house  on  shore,  and  met  a  i)leasant 
party  of  males  and  females.  We  had  music  and  dancing,  and  the 
fimily  proved  agreeable  and  amiable.  At  midnight  we  reached  the 
'Vernon,'  all  tolerably  steady,  that  is  to  say,  Mr.  Massey,  the  first 
(lieutenant,  the  cai>tain,  and  myself. 

"  On  Wednesday,  \st  of  August,  I  breakfasted  with  the  officers 
of  the  '  Ocean,'  and  Lieutenant  Carey  (brother  of  Lord  Falkland) 
took  me  in  his  cutter  to  Chatham,  during  which  sail  we  saw  about 
a  hundred  ships  of  war,  of  the  line  and  fiigates,  all  moored  like 
models  along  both  shores.  The  chaplain  (Falls)  and  I  then  in- 
spected Chatham  and  Rochester,  and  walked  to  Maidstone,  where 
were  the  assizes;  so  we  procceled  to  a  village  wayside  iim,  where 


34:6  MEMOIU    OF   JOHN    WILSON, 

we  slept  comfortably.  This  walk  gave  us  a  view  of  the  Vale  ol 
Alesfoid  aiul  tlie  richest  parts  of  Kent. 

"  On  T/ia)'sd<(>/,  2(1,  Ave  retcirned  to  the  'Vernon,'  through  a  woody 
and  hedgy  country,  and  the  hottest  of  days,  and  in  tlie  afternoon 
saw  the  powder  taken  aboard.  The  officers  of  the  96th  gave  me  a 
dinner  at  the  barracks,  and  a  jovial  night  we  had  of  it.  On  rowing 
back  to  the  ship,  one  of  our  lieutenants  fell  overboard,  but  we 
picked  him  up  without  loss  of  time,  and  had  him  resuscitated.  On 
l\ida}/,  3d,  I  called  on  the  Admiral,  and  chatted  with  his  three 
daughters,  about  the  corresponding  ages  of  your  three — pretty,  and 
well  brought  up,  elegant,  and  without  hauteur.  They  have  no 
mother,  but  an  aunt  lives  with  the  Admiral,  who  is  a  kind-hearted 
soul  as  ever  lived.  I  also  called  on  Captain  Chambers,  captain  of 
the  '  Ocaan,'  who  lives  on  shore,  and  chatted  with  his  daughters, 
three  in  number,  and  agreeable — eldest  pretty  and  rather  literary 
— good  people  all.  I  also  called  on  Mr.  Warden,  surgeon,  who  used 
to  live  in  Ann  Street.  I  found  him  and  his  wife  and  family  snugly 
situated  in  a  good  house,  and  civil  to  a  degree.  I  dined  on  board 
the  '  Ocean  :'  officers  of  that  ship  delightful  fellows,  and  over- 
whelmed me  with  kindness. 

'■'■Saturday^  the  Ath. — The  '  Snake'  gun-brig  from  Woolwich  ap 
peared  in  the  offing  going  down  the  river,  and  the  '  Ocean'  saluted 
her  with  twelve  guns.  At  midday  the  '  Vernon'  manned  her  yards, 
a  beautiful  sight,  while  we  received  the  Admiral.  I  lunched  on 
board  the  '  Ocean,'  and  dined  in  the  '  Vernon,'  having  inspected 
all  the  docks  and  the  model-room,  and  seen  Sheerness  completely. 
In  the  evening  we  were  towed  out  to  the  Nore.  On  Sunday^  thi, 
5th,  we  weighed  anchor  by  daylight,  and  the  '  Vernon'  for  the  first 
time  e.\])anded  her  wings  in  tiight.  She  was  accompanied  by  the 
Duke  of  Portland's  celebrated  yacht  the  'Clown,'  whom  she  beat 
going  before  the  wind,  but  we  had  no  other  kind  of  trial  till  we 
cast  anchor  off  the  Sark  in  the  '  Swin'  off  Norwich.  Jfotiday,  the 
6th. — Weighed  anchor  at  daylight  with  a  fine  breeze,  and  went  into 
the  Downs.  Off  Ramsgate,  were  joined  by  the  '  Snake'  and  '  Pan- 
taloon' gun-brigs,  the  latter  the  best  sailer  of  her  size  ever  known. 
It  came  on  to  blow  fresh,  and  for  several  hours  we  tried  it  on  upon 
a  wind,  having  been  joined  by  a  number  of  cutters.  The  '  Vernon' 
rather  beat  the  rest,  but  in  my  opinion  not  very  far,  the  'Pantaloon' 
Bticking  to  her  like  wax.     But  our  sails  are  not  yet  stretched,  and 


cRursK  WITH  Tin:  kxperimental  squadron.  347 

the  opinion  on  board  is,  that  f-he  will,  in  another  -week  or  so,  beat 
all  opponents.  The  day  was  line,  and  the  sight  beautiful,  as  we 
cruised  along  the  white  clilFs  of  Dover,  and  then  well  over  towards 
the  French  coast.  At  sunset  we  returned  before  the  wind  to  the 
Downs,  and  the  squadron  ('Vernon,'  'Snake,'  'Pantaloon,'  and 
'  Clown')  cast  anchor  off  Deal,  surrounded  by  a  great  number  of 
vessels. 

"  Tuesday^  the  1th. — The  squadron  left  their  anchorage  before 
Deal  about  twelve  o'clock,  with  a  strong  breeze;  the  'Clown'  and 
'Pantaloon'  being  to  windward  of  the  'Vernon,'  and  the  'Snake* 
rather  to  leeward.  Tliis  position  was  retained  for  nearly  two  hours, 
when  the  '  Snake'  dropped  considerably  astern,  and  the  '  Vernon' 
weathered  the  'Pantaloon,'  the  'Clown'  still  keeping  to  windward 
and  crossing  our  bows.  At  this  juncture  it  blew  hard,  and  I  went 
down  with  Collier  and  Synionds  to  dinner  in  their  cabin.  The  '  Ver- 
non' was  now  left  in  charge  of  the  lirst  lieutenant,  and  in  tacking 
missed  stays.  The  '  Snake'  and  '  Pantaloon'  immediately  went  to 
windward,  and  we  were  last  of  all.  It  still  blew  very  fresh,  and  in 
about  two  hours  we  again  headed  the  squadron,  all  but  the  '  Clown,' 
who  continued  first  all  along.  Towards  sunset  the  wind  came  off" 
the  land,  where  the  '  Snake'  and  '  Pantaloon'  were,  and  brought 
them  to  windward  of  us  about  two  miles,  and  so  ended  the  day's 
trial,  with  alternate  success.  The  'Snake'  and  'Pantaloon'  then 
came  down  by  signal  under  the  'Vernon's'  stern,  and  we  continued 
all  night  in  company  under  easy  sail,  the  wind  having  slackened, 
and  the  moon  being  clear  and  bright. 

"  Wednesday,  8th. — At  seven  o'clock  found  ourselves  off  Beachy 
Head,  with  the  'Clown'  a  long  way  to  leeward,  th.e  '  Snake'  to  wind- 
ward, and  the  *  Pantaloon'  in  our  wake.  '^Phe  wind  had  shifted 
during  the  night,  and  we  had  the  advantage  of  it.  But  towards 
morning  it  had  fallen,  and  we  made  but  two  knots  an  hour.  The 
calm  continued  during  the  day,  and  we  made  but  little  way.  Early 
in  the  afternoon  a  miserable  accident  occurred.  The  crew  were  up 
aloft  lowering  the  main  topgallant  yard.  It  is  a  sj)ar  about  seventy 
feet  long,  and  about  sixty  feet  above  the  deck.  As  it  was  coming 
down,  a  man  slid  along  it  to  release  a  rope  from  a  block,  when,  by 
some  mistake,  the  men  above  cut  the  rope  he  was  hoKling  by,  and 
in  sight  of  us  all  he  descended  with  great  velocity,  clinging  to  th« 
spar  till  he  came  to  the  end  of  it,  and  then  with  outstretched  arm.s 


348  MKMOIlt    OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

fell  about  forty  feet  upon  tlie  deck,  within  three  yards  of  wliere  I 
was  standing.  The  crash  was  dreadful,  and  he  was  instantly  larried 
below,  alfairs  going  on  just  as  if  he  had  been  a  spider.  It  was  found 
that  his  light  arm  was  shattered  to  pieces,  and  his  whole  frame  shook 
fatally.  He  continued  composed  and  sensible  for  three  hours,  when 
he  began  to  moan  wofuUy,  and  in  half  an  hour  expired.  lie  was  a 
Scotsman  of  the  name  of  Murray,  one  of  the  best  men  in  the  ship, 
and  brother,  it  is  said,  of  a  clergyman.  No  doubt  many  felt  for 
huu,  but  the  noise,  laughter,  swearing,  and  singing,  went  on  during 
all  the  lime  he  was  dying. 

'■'T/tu/-^dai/,9th. — The  ship  has  been  making  considerable  way 
during  the  night,  and  at  eight  o'clock  we  are  oif  the  Isle  of  Wight ; 
'  Snake'  and  '  Pantaloon'  about  two  miles  behind,  all  three  going 
before  the  wind.  The  dead  man  is  lying  on  the  gun-deck,  separated 
from  wheie  I  now  sit  by  a  thin  partition.  The  body  is  wrapped  in 
flags,  and  the  walls  at  his  head  and  back  are  hung  with  cutlasses  and 
the  muskets  of  the  marines.  His  weatherbeaten  face  is  calm  and 
smiling,  and  '  after  life's  titful  fever  he  sleeps  well.'  The  night  be- 
fore, he  was  one  of  the  most  active  in  a  jig  danced  to  the  fifes.  The 
wind  is  freshening,  and  we  expect  to  be  ofi"  Plymouth  (120  miles)  by 
midnight.  We  have  sprang  one  of  our  yards,  and  the  fore-mast 
seems  shaken,  so  we  shall  put  into  Plymouth  to  refit,  and  probably 
remain  there  three  days.  It  is  not  unlikely  that  the  Admiral  (Mai 
colm)  may  join  us  there.  If  not,  we  shall  Bail  for  Cork  (distant  30C 
miles),  and  then,  perhaps,  the  experimental  squadron  will  begin  its 
career.  We  have  no  more  fear  of  fighting,  neither  do  we  know 
where  we  may  be  going,  but  my  own  opinion  is  that  we  shall  cruise 
in  the  Channel.  I  do  not  see  that  I  can  be  at  home  sooner  than  a 
month  at  the  soonest,  as  all  that  I  came  to  see  remains  yet  to  be 
seen.  I  am  not  without  hopes  of  getting  a  letter  from  you  before 
we  leave  Plymouth.  I  meet  with  all  kindness  from  everybody,  and 
am  pleased  with  the  on-goings  of  a  sea-life,  though  the  bustle  and 
disturbance  is  greater  than  I  had  imagined,  and  the  noise  incessant 
imd  beyond  all  description.  But  my  appetite  is  good,  and  I  am 
never  heaid  to  utter  a  complaint.  All  day  wind  light,  but  towards 
evening  it  freshened,  and  at  seven  we  committed  the  body  of  the 
poor  sailor  to  the  deep.  The  funeral  ceremony  was  most  impressive. 
Before  nightfall  the  '  Snake'  came  up  with  a  fresh  breeze,  and  we 
had  another  contest,  in  which  the  '  Vernon'  w\as  fairly  beaten.     In 


CRUISE    WITH    TIIK    EXPERIMENTAL    S^iL  AUKOX.  341) 

smooth  water  and  moderate  winds  the  '  Snake'  is  at  present  her 
master,  much  to  my  surprise ;  when  it  blows  hard  we  are  superior. 
Friday,  10th. — This  morning  at  four  we  entered  Plymouth.  The 
country  around  is  very  beautiful,  and  young  Captain  Blackwood  and 
I  are  proposing  to  go  on  shore.  How  long  we  remain  here  seems 
uncertain.     I  hopt  it  may  not  be  above  a  day  or  two. 

*'  Captain  Blackwood  and  self  have  been  perambulating  Plymoutli, 
and  intend  to  dine  at  the  hotel  thereof. 

"  1  have  written  a  tolerably  long  letter.  God  bless  you  all,  and 
true  it  is  that  I  think  of  you  every  hour,  and  hope  you  now  and  then 
think  of  me  too.  Kindest  love  to  all  the  progeny,  John,  Mag,  Moll, 
Blair,  and  Umbs,  and  believe  me  yours  most  affectionately, 

"  J.  Wilson. 

"  Write  to  me  again  on  receipt  of  this,  and  enclose  as  before  to 
Mr.  Barrow  of  the  Admiralty.  The  enclosed  signature  of  my 
name,  Johnny  will  give  to  Robert  Blackwood,  who  will  get  my  half- 
year's  salary  from  the  City  Chamberlain,  which  you  will  get  from 
the  said  Bob.  Send  £10  to  EUeray,  and  account  to  me  for  the  rest 
of  the  enormous  sum.*  I  enclosed  £5  in  my  last  from  Sheerness. 
Once  more  love  to  yourself  and  to  children,  and  farewell.  I  will 
write  from  Cork.     Yours,  J.  W." 

"  Plymouth,  August  23d. 
"My  DEAiiKST  Jaxe  : — I  have,  as  you  know,  received  your  first 
long  united  epistle,  and  answered  it  in  a  hurried  letter,  telling  you 
to  write  to  me  direct  to  Plymouth.  Before  that  I  wrote  a  long 
journal  letter  enclosing  my  signature  for  a  receipt,  wliic-.h  no  doubt 
you  have  received.  To  wait  for  the  post  of  that  era  (the  day  after 
my  long  letter,  August  10),  I  went  up  the  Tamar  with  Captain 
Blackwood,  and  after  an  excursion  of  three  days  returned  to  Ply- 
mouth. On  Tuesday  the  14th  I  dined  on  board  the  'Malta,'  Cap- 
tain Clavell,  with  a  large  party,  and  that  evening  went  aboard  the 
*  Canipeadora'  schooner,  a  pleasure-yacht  belonging  to  Mr.  Wil- 
liamson, from  Liverpool  (nephew  to  old  Shaw  thereof,  who,  I  un- 
derstand, was  a  rich  and  well-bred  personage),  and  sailed  w^ith  liim 
to  Portsmouth,  distant  from  Plymouth  150  miles.  I  passed  two 
days  at  Portsmouth  viewing  all  the  great  works  there;  and  return- 
ed to  Plymouth  on  Saturday,  the  ITlh,  by  a  steamer;  a  most  stormy 

♦  The  Professor's  "  salary"  was  luli  4s.  4J.  per  aiiuum. 


350  MEMOIU    OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

passage.  Saturday  and  Sunday  I  dined  on  board  tlie  '  Ternon  ;' 
and  on  the  Sunday  I  wrote  to  you  the  hurried  letter  above  aUuded 
to.  On  Monday,  the  19th,  I  dined  with  Mr.  Roberts,  the  master 
Bhip-buiUh-r  of  the  docks,  and  mot  some  naval  and  military  officers. 
Tuesday  the  20th  -was  an  a'-day's  rain,  and  I  kept  all  day  in  a  lodg- 
ing-room with  Captain  Williams,  R.  X.,  and  his  brother,  the  purser 
of  the  'Vernon.'  Wednesday  the  21st  was  a  fine  day,  but  I  went 
nowhere,  except  on  board  a  few  ships  ;  and  it  being  electioneering 
time  here,  I  heard  some  s])eeches  from  Sir  Edward  Codrington  and 
others.  I  dined  with  a  party  of  offishers  at  the  hotel.  To-day 
(Thursday  the  2 2d)  I  saw  Sir  F.  Collier,  w'ho  informed  me  that  the 
squadron  of  Sir  P.  Malcolm,  consisting  of  seven  sail,  were  in  the 
offing,  and  that  the  '  Vernon'  is  to  join  them  to-morrow  at  12  a.m. 
W^e  are  consequently  all  in  a  bustle ;  and  my  next  letter  will  be 
from  the  first  port  we  put  into.  This  is  the  night  of  the  said  Thurs- 
day ;  I  am  on  shore  writing  this.  I  hope  that  a  letter  from  you  will 
reach  us  to-morrow  before  we  sail,  though  I  fear  not,  because  Mr. 
Barrow  is  at  Portsmouth,  and  that  may  have  delayed  your  letter. 
The  letter  which  you  were  to  write  direct  according  to  former  in- 
structions, to  Plymouth,  will  be  sent  after  us  ere  long.  On  receiv- 
ing this  please  to  write  to  me,  directed  to  me  under  cover  to  Mr. 
Marrow,  Adtniralti/,  and  it  will  be  forwarded  with  the  Admiral's 
letters.  7'Ae  cruise  begins  to-morrow^  and  two  months  have  been 
spent,  as  you  will  see,  in  another  way.  I  shall  take  two  or  three 
weeks  of  the  cruise,  as  it  would  be  stupid  to  return  without  seeing 
the  experimental  squadron.  I  shall  write  to  you  by  the  first  steamer 
or  tender  that  takes  letters  from  the  squadron.  I  do  not  think  we 
are  going  very  far.  Several  balls  and  concerts  were  about  to  be 
given  to  us,  but  our  orders  have  come  at  last  rather  unexpectedly, 
and  all  the  ladies  are  in  tears.  I  forgot  to  say  that  on  Monday,  the 
13th,  I  dined,  not  on  board  the  'Vernon,'  but  in  the  Admiral's 
house,  with  a  sitlendid  party.  The  '  Vernon'  has  been  much  attnck- 
ed  in  the  newspapers,  but  my  account  of  her  in  my  long  letter  i& 
the  correct  one.  I  think  in  strong  breezes  she  will  beat  the  squadron. 
In  light  winds  she  may  prove  but  an  '  Endeavor.'  I  shall  say  no 
more  of  my  hopes  and  tears  about  your  letter  to-morrow  ;  but  this 
I  will  say,  and  truly,  that  I  Uiink  of  you  all  three  or  seven  times  a 
(iay,  or  haply  twenty-one.  I  suppose  the  lads  have  gone  to  Elleray, 
according  to  my  permission  in  my  last,  and  with  the  means  of  doing 


CRUISE  wrni  the  exterlmicntal  squadron.  y>')\ 

so  affonled  by  the  stamp-receipt.  I  will  write  to  you  agniii  before 
long;  I  hope  it  will  not  be  very  long  before  I  return.  Tell  (he  girls 
to  be  sensible  and  good  ffffls.  Love  to  them  and  the  lads,  if  these 
latter  be  with  you ;  and  do  not  doubt,  my  dearest  Jane,  that  I  am, 
and  ever  will  be,  your  affectionate  Johx  "^Vilson." 

"  Campeadora  ScnooNEn,  Plymoutu, 
•  Augzist  31,  1832. 

"  My  dearest  Jane  : — After  some  anxiety  from  not  hearing 
from  you,  your  letter  of  the  23d,  direct  to  Plymouth,  reached  ine 
khe  day  before  yesterday,  and  informed  me  that  all  are  well.  I 
cannot  conjecture  what  has  become  of  your  other  letters,  but  I 
have  received  only  one  long  one  written  conjunctly,  and  your  own 
of  the  23d.  Any  or  all  intermediate  must  still  be  with  Mr.  Barrow. 
I  presume  that  Sym  has  told  you  within  these  few  days  that  he  has 
heard  from  me,  and  I  now  sit  down  to  inform  you  further  of  my 
proceedings.  The  squadron  are  now  collected,  and  we  have  been 
sailing  with  strong  breezes.  The  first  day  there  was  no  right  trial ; 
the  second,  from  Torbay  to  near  Plymouth  and  back  again,  was  also 
inconclusive.  The  chief  struggle  was  between  the  'Snake,'  'Cas- 
tor,' and  'Vernon.'  When  going  under  full  sail,  in  the  same  tack, 
close-hauled  to  the  Avind,  the  'Vernon'  Avas  considerably  ahead,  the 
'  Castor'  next,  and  the  '  Snake'  trying  to  shoot  across  the  '  Castor's' 
bow,  but  without  success.  The  '  Castor'  carried  away  her  jib-boom, 
and  signal  was  thereupon  made  by  the  Admiral  for  us  io  jyut  about. 
The  'Castor'  stood  in,  and  we  crossed  her  to  Avindward  only  fifty 
yards.  As  she  Avas  more  than  fifty  yards  behind  Avhen  Ave  started, 
her  people  claimed  the  victoiy,  but  it  was  obviously  no  go.  The 
day  grew  very  boisterous,  and  we  got  safe  at  sunset  into  Torbay. 
On  Sunday  (the  day  folloAving),  I  visited  the  Admiral,  as  told  in  my 
letter  to  Sym.  On  Monday  Ave  lay  at  rest.  I  am  sorry  to  s.-jy,  that 
on  entering  Torbay,  on  &iturday  night,  a  man  fell  overboard,  and 
Avas  droAvned.  On  Wednesday  morning,  at  four  o'clock,  the  squad- 
ron got  under  weigh  and  left  Torbay.  I  had  gone  o)i  board  the 
'Campeadora'  the  night  before,  and  slept  thereon  conditio]i  that  a 
look-out  should  be  kept  on  the  movements  of  the  'Vernon.'  Jud^e 
•^f  my  feelings  (mixed)  Avhen  aAvakened  at  soA'en,  and  told  all  the 
dliips  had  been  gone  for  several  hours.  At  eight  Ave  AA-eighed  an- 
chor and   followed   the  fleet.     The  tide  favored   ys,  ami   so  did  a 


S52  MEMOIR   OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

stronor  breeze  from  the  land,  and  in  a  few  hours  we  discovered  ihe 
Sfiuadron  some  leagues  ahead,  but  to  leeward,  and  they  were  all 
racing,  and,  as  we  neared,  I  had  a  beautiful  view  of  ail  their  mo- 
tions. The  'Snake'  was  two  miles  ahead  of  all  the  others;  the 
'  Ycrnon'  and  'Prince'  were  next,  and  close  together.  The  'Trin- 
culo'  followed,  then  the  '  Nimrod ;'  next  came  the  '  Castor,' and, 
finally,  the  '  Donegal ;'  the  '  Dryad'  had  been  sent  to  Portsmouth, 
and  the  'Tyne'  to  Plymouth  the  day  before.  It* now  came  on  to 
blow  very  hard,  and  the  Avaves  ran  hillocks  high  ;  frequent  squalls 
darkened  the  sky,  and  shut  out  the  ships,  which  ever  and  anon 
reappeared  like  phantoms.  They  seemed  to  retain  their  positions. 
Meanwhile  we  kept  to  windward,  and  ahead  of  them  all,  but  with 
a  pitching,  and  a  tossing,  and  a  rolling  no  mortal  stomach  could 
withstand.  Still,  though  occasionally  sick,  I  enjoyed  the  storm. 
My  hat  flew  overboard,  and  we  were  all  as  wet  as  if  in  the  sea. 
There  was  no  danger,  and  the  vessel  was  admirably  managed,  but 
she  was  liker  a  fish  than  a  bird.  Between  four  and  five  in  the 
afternoon  the  '  Campeadora'  dropt  anchor  behind  the  breakwater 
in  Plymouth  Sound.  In  rather  more  than  half-an-hour  the  '  Snake' 
did  the  same ;  in  another  half-hour  in  came  the  '  Prince ;'  in  quarter 
of  an  hour  more  the  '  Vernon  ;'  and  shortly  after  the  '  Trinculo' 
and  the  'Nimrod;'  the  'Castor'  and  'Donegal'  were  obliged  to  lie 
ofl*  during  the  night.  The  race  was  fifty  miles,  beating  to  wind- 
ward, and  in  blowy  weather.  The  '  Vernon'  was,  at  the  end,  seven 
miles  ahead  of  the  '  Castor,'  her  chief  competitor,  they  being  the 
only  two  frigates,  and  built  by  rivals,  Symonds  and  Jeflrys.  ^s 
soon  as  I  got  myself  dried,  and  my  hunger  appeased,  I  joined  the 
'Vernon,'  and  joined  the  officers  in  the  gun-room,  crowing  over  the 
'  Castor.'  They  had  sold  all  my  cfteots  by  auction,  and  had  consid- 
ered me  a  deserter.  The  night  was  passed  somewhat  boisterously, 
hut  ihe  name  of  the  Campeadora  never  once  mentioned  I !  !  !  She 
had  beaten  them  all  like  sacJcs,  and  I  therefore  behaved  as  if  I  had 
come  from  Torbay  in  a  balloon.  Next  day  (Thursday)  we  remain- 
ed all  anchored  behind  the  breakwater.  Your  welcome  letter  I  le- 
ceived  on  board  the  '  Vernon,'  the  evening  of  the  race.  I  asked  one 
of  the  officers  what  he  thought  of  the  '  Can)peadorn,'  Avho  had  left 
Tc^rbay  three  hours  after  the  sqiuidron,  and  anchored  in  the  Sound 
of  Plymouth  halfan-hour  before  the  'Snake.'  His  answer  was. 
'  Thf(t  he  had  not  seen  her  !  that  we  had  not  sailed  with  the  squad- 


CEUISE    WITH    THE    EXPEKlilENVAL    SQUADRON.  OOO 

ron  at  all;  and  had  been  brought  m  by  the  tide  and  the  land 
breeze' ! ! !  The  tide  and  land  breeze  had  helped  to  bring  us  up 
with  the  squadron ;  but  for  live  hours  we  Ijeat  thenx  al!,  as  I  s.iid, 
like  sacks  into  our  anchorage.  The  whole  oliicers  joined  with  my 
antagonist  in  argument,  and  it  has  been  settled  among  them  that 
the  'Campeadora'  did  not  sail  with  the  squadron,  and  that  she  beat 
nobody  !  Such,  even  at  sea,  is  the  littleness  of  men's  souls ;  it  is 
worse  even  than  on  Windermere  at  a  regatta.  This  is  Friday  (the 
31st),  and  I  slept  last  night  in  the  'Campeadora.'  I  shall  keep  this 
letter  open  till  I  hear  something  of  our  intended  motions,  which  I 
hope  to  do  on  boarding  the  'Admiral.'  The  'Vernon'  is  eaid  to  be 
wet,  because  when  it  blows  hard,  and  she  sails  upon  a  wind,  the 
spray  S[)ins  over  her  main  top-gallant  mast.  This  it  seems  is  reck- 
oned a  great  merit.  As  to  the  noise  on  board — for  it  consists  of 
everlasting  groaning,  howling,  yelling,  cursing,  and  swearing,  which 
is  the  language  in  which  all  orders  are  given  and  executed — never 
less  than  200  men  are  2^)'C(ncii/f/  on  her  decks,  and  occasionally  500; 
windlasses  are  ever  at  work,  and  iron  cables  are  letting  out  and 
taking  in,  which  rumble  like  thunder.  Gun-carriages  (two  ton  and 
a  half  heavy)  are  pei"petually  rolled  about  to  alter  her  trim,  and  ever 
and  anon  cannon  fired  close  to  your  ears  (32-pounders)  which  might 
waken  the  dead.  Drums,  too,  are  rolling  frequently,  and  there  are 
at  all  times  the  noise  of  heavy  bodies  falling,  of  winds  whistling', 
and  waves  beating  up  to  any  degree.  But  all  these  noises  are 
nothing  compared  to  holy-sto7iiny !  This  is  the  name  given  to 
scrubbing  decks.  ^V  hundred  men  all  fall  at  once  upon  their  knees, 
and  begin  sciubbing  the  decks  with  large  rough  stones  called  holy- 
stones ;  this  continues  every  morning  from  four  o'clock  to  five,  and 
is  a  noise  that  beggars  all  description.  I  sleep  in  the  cock-pit,  a 
place  below  both  decks,  in  a  swinging  cot,  which  is  very  comforta- 
ble. But  as  soon  as  the  decks  are  done,  down  come  a  dozen  Jacks, 
and  holy-sto7ie  the  floor  of  the  cock-pit,  Avithout  taking  any  notice 
of  me,  who  am  swinging  over  their  heads.  That  being  over,  all 
the  midshipmen  whose  chests  are  in  the  cock-pit,  come  in  to  wash, 
and  shave,  and  dress.  You  had  better  not  imagine  the  scene  that 
then  ensues.  As  soon  as  the  majority  of  them  are  gone  I  get  up, 
and,  at  half-past  seven.  Cap  tain  Coryton  of  the  Marines  gives  me 
his  cabin  to  wash  and  dress  in.  I  do  so  every  morning,  and  the 
luxury  of  washing  too  became  known  to  ine  for  the  first  time;  for 
15 


354:  MEMOIR    OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

you  get  covered  -witb  dust,  and  sand,  and  paint  by  day  and  night, 
to  say  nothing  of  tar  and  twuic  ;  in  short,  every  thiuir  but  tV-alhers. 
The  eating  is  excellent,  and  the  drinking  not  bad,  though  some- 
times rather  too  much  of  it. 

"  I  have,  since  writing  the  above,  seen  Sir  F.  Collier,  who  informs 
me  we  start  to-morrow  forenoon  (September  1st)  for  the  coast  of 
Ireland.  I  shall  go;  and  if  the  squadron  does  not  return  soon  to 
Portsmouth,  I  shall  sail  from  Cork  to  some  northern  port,  and  so 
home.  I  will  write  to  you  by  the  first  opportunity,  and  I  believe 
one  will  occur  in  a  week.  Love  to  the  girls.  I  am  happy  to  hear 
that  Molly  is  getting  on  with  her  singing,  and  she  may  depend  on 
my  being  pleased  with  her  chanson.  ^l-Q^^  is,  no  doubt,  now  a  Son- 
tag;  perhaps  Umbs  may  also  prove  a  songstress.  The  boys  by 
this  time  have,  I  suppose,  been  a  while  at  Elleray.  Narcotic  is  a 
good  word  for  the  Opium-Eater,  but  I  read  it  hare-skiu.  I  have 
just  heard  that  another  letter  is  lying  for  me  on  shore.  I  hope  it 
is  from  some  of  you ;  but  I  cannot  get  it,  I  fear,  till  the  morning, 
and  I  am  this  hour  again  on  boai'd  the  '  Vernon,'  and  it  is  blowing 
so  hard  that  no  boats  are  going  on  shore. 

"I  therefore  conclude  with  warmest  and  sincerest  affection  for 
thyself  and  all  our  children.  Give  my  kindest  remembrances  to 
my  sister  Jnne,  who,  I  devoutly  trust,  will  continue  to  improve  in 
health,  and,  ere  long,  be  well.  You  ai'e  now  but  a  family  of  four 
feniah's,  so  be  all  good  boys,  and  believe  that  I  will  be  happy  to  be 
with  you  again,  when  I  hope  you  will  be  happy  to  see  again  the  old 
man.  Once  more,  with  love  to  you  and  the  three  Graces,  I  am,  my 
dearest  Jane,  ever  yours  most  affectionately, 

"  John  Wilson. 

"'Veexox,'  off  Plymouth,  Augiist  Slst." 

"  Land's  End,  Tuesday  Evening, 
September  ith. 

*'  About  eight  o'clock  morning  we  were  off  the  Scilly  Isles,  and 
observed  a  steamer.  It  contained  the  Admiralty  and  other 
grandees.  Sir  C.  Paget,  Sir  F.  Maitland,  and  Admiral  Dundas, 
came  on  board  .at  nine,  and  at  ten  signal  was  made  for  all  ships  to 
close  upon  the  '  Vernon.'  The  wind  was  light  but  steady,  and  the 
day  beautiful.  We  sailed  till  five  o'clock  (seven  hours)  in  charming 
style,  but  it  would  take  a  volume  to  narrate  all  our  evolutions. 
For  the  greater  part  of  the  time  the  '  Waterwitch'  kept  first,  and 


CRUISE    WITH    THE    EXIM.RIMKXTAL    SQUADRON.  3o.> 

thon  the  'Vernon,'  the  'Snaku'  having  outmanoeuvred  lierself  by 
passing  too  close  to  windwanl.  Tlie  'Castor'  sailed  well,  hut  kfci)t 
dropping  to  leeward.  At  half  past  four  the  'Vernon'  weathered 
the  '  Water w^itch'  and  'Snake,'  and  led  the  squadron.  This  was 
done  by  fair  sailing,  on  which  the  Admiral  made  signal  to  shorten 
sail,  which  was  done;  and  the  grandees  left  us  and  went  on  board 
the  steamer,  which  set  off  for  Portsmouth.  Sir  Pulteney  tlien  came 
on  board  the  '  Vernon,'  and  acknowledged  we  had  beaten  the  squad- 
ron. The  '  Castor'  was  four  miles  to  leeward,  the  '  Stag'  six,  and 
the  'Donegal'  eight:  the'NiuMod'  as  far;  but  the  '  Waterwitch' 
and  '  Snake'  were  only  a  quarter  of  a  mile  under  our  lee.  The  tri- 
umph of  the  '  Vernon'  is  declared  complete,  but,  in  my  opinion,  the 
'Waterwitch'  and  'Snake'  may  beat  her  another  day;  the  'Castor' 
cannot,  in  any  wind.  The  Admiral  has  just  left  us,  and,  if  weather 
permit,  Sir  F.  Collier  and  the  Professor  will  dine  to-morrow  on 
board  the  '  Donegal.'  We  are  now  making  sail  back  to  the  '  Lizard,' 
where,  in  the  morning,  a  boat  will  come  from  shore  for  our  letters. 
We  will  then  put  about  for  the  coast  of  Ireland,  as  Sir  Pulteney 
himself  has  told  me ;  and  therefore,  my  dearest  Jane,  either  your- 
self or  the  lasses,  that  is,  the  gals,  must  write  to  me,  if  possible,  the 
evening  you  receive  this — His  Majesty'' s  S/up  '  Ver/ton,^  Cork — 
without  any  reference  to  Barrow,  and  I  shall  get  it  probably  before 
we  leave  that  harbor.  That  will  be  the  last  time  I  shall  hear  from 
you  before  I  return ;  and  from  Cork  I  will  write  to  Sym,  who  will 
probably  send  you  my  letter  or  pait  of  it.  Pray  keep  my  letters 
for  sake  of  the  dates,  for  I  have  not  been  able  to  keep  a  journal.  A 
good  many  things  have  occurred  on  board  within  tliese  tew  days, 
but  I  have  no  room  to  narrate  them.  Warmest  love  to  the  progeny, 
who,  I  hope,  do  not  forget  him  who  tenderly  loveth  them.  I  ex- 
pect to  find  them  all  grown  on  my  return,  and  Catalani  jealous  of 
Sontag.  I  send  them  all  kisses  and  prayers  for  their  happiness,  and 
for  that  of  one  of  the  best  of  wives  to  her  aftectionate  husband, 

"John  Wilson." 

"Off  the  Lizard,  Sepkmher  5,  1832. 

"My  dearest  Jane: — I  wrote  a  tolerably  long  letter   the  day 

before  we  left  Plymouth,  which  was  on  Tuesday,  the  4ih.     I  had 

then  received  threj  letters  from  you,  including  one  that  had  been 

sent  to  Cork.     I  t!i.refore  knew  that  you  were  all  well  on  the  23d 


356  MEMOIR    OF   JOHN    WILSOX. 

August,  and  trust  I  believe  you  are  so  noio.  The  squadron  left 
port  with  a  light  leading  wind,  consisting  of  '  Donegal,'  '  Yernon,' 
'Castor,'  'StMg'  (a  40  frigate),  'Nimrod,'  'Snake,'  and  'Waterwitch.' 
The  '  Dryad'  is  paid  off,  being  a  bad  sailer,  and  the  '  Tyne'  sails  for 
South  America  in  a  few  days,  and  belongs  no  more  to  our  Aug. 
Tile  'Trinculo'  has  gone  to  Cork,  and  the  '  Prince'  is  at  Plymouth. 
In  beating  jut,  '  Vernon'  missed  stays,  and  drifted,  stern  foremost, 
aboard  the  'Castor,'  with  no  inconsiderable  crash,  staving  her  boat 
in  the  slings,  and  making  much  cordage  spin.  We  got  off,  how- 
ever, without  damage  of  any  consequence,  and  towards  night  were 
off  the  Eddystone  lighthouse.  There  was  very  little  difference  in 
the  rate  of  going  between  '  Vernon'  and  '  Castor.'  The  '  Castor' 
rather  beat  us  the  first  two  hours,  but  at  sunset  (when  sail  is  always 
t^ken  in)  we  were  to  windward  about  200  yards ;  the  '  Snake,'  as 
usual,  a  mile  at  least  ahead,  and  to  windward  of  us  all.  All  night 
■we  kept  under  easy  sail  in  'our  Admiral's  lee,'  and  on  Monday 
morning  at  six  o'clock,  signal  was  made  for  us  to  spread  all  our 
canvas,  and  try  it  before  the  wind.  We  soon  got  into  a  cluster,  the 
breeze  being  so  light  as  to  be  almost  a  calm,  and  so  we  carried  on 
in  a  pretty  but  tedious  style  for  the  greater  part  of  the  day,  our 
prows  being  in  the  direction  of  Falmouth.  The  Lords  of  the  Ad- 
miralty are  there  at  present,  and  I  suppose  we  shall  touch  in  this 
evening.  They  were  at  Plymouth,  and  I  Avas  introduced  to  one  of 
them.  Admiral  Dundas,  who  was  very  civil;  so  was  Sir  d  Paget 
and  Sir  F.  Maitlaiid,  the  latter  of  whom  invited  me  to  see  him  at 
Portsmouth  on  our  return,  he  being  Admiral  on  that  station.  Sir 
J.  Graham  I  did  not  see,  as  we  were  at  dinner  when  he  came  on 
board  the  '  Vernon.'  Sir  Pulteney  has  been  extremely  kind,  and  is 
a  good  old  man.  I  had  not  heard  of  poor  Minna's  death,  and  asked 
how  she  was,  when  he  gave  me  the  intelligence.  She  was  a  good 
woman,  in  my  opinion.  She  died  of  dropsy,  and  had  suffered  much, 
but  bore  it  like  a  Christian.  We  have  just  caught  sight  of  an 
enormous  lizard,  so  large  that  it  is  called  'The  Lizard,'  and  we  are 
all  to  lie  under  its  shadow  till  morning,  so  good-night." 

"Cork,  Fiidaij,  Hth  Sept.,  1832. 
"My  deakkst  Jane: — I  wrote  to  you  on  the  5^A,  off  the  Lizard, 
and  since  then  have  enjoyed  a  week's  capital  cruisinrf  in  all  kinds  of 
winds,  except  a  positive  storm.   Your  last  letter  received  was  the  2^th 


CRUISE    WITH    THE    EXPERIMENTAL    SQL'ATJKON.  357 

of  August;  and  I  am  in  hopes  of  getting  your  answer  to  mine  of  the 
5th  to-night.  If  I  do  not,  I  shall  leave  orders  at  the  pos^ office  to 
send  it  on  to  London,  \vhere  I  hope  to  be  in  a  week  from  this  day. 
But  in  case  any  accident  should  happen,  I  wish  one  <>f  you  to  write 
to  me,  the  same  day  you  get  this,  directed  to  me  at  '  Union  Ilotel^ 
Charing  Cross,  London,  to  lie  till  called  for,^  telling  me  that  you  are 
all  well.  I  shall  be  at  Portsmouth  (necessarily)  a  day  or  two  before  I 
go  to  London,  but  shall  not  stay  in  the  metropolis  more  than  one 
day.  I  rather  think  I  shall  come  down  to  Edinburgh  by  land,  for  a 
steamboat  after  the  'Vernon'  will  be  rather  dull,  and  at  this  season 
rolls  most  infernally.  In  that  case  I  shall  go  by  York ;  for  I  do 
not  wish  to  trouble  Elleray  at  present,  for  sufficient  reasons.  As  I 
shall  travel  outside,  I  shall  probably  stay  a  day  at  York:  but  I  will 
write  you  a  day  before  I  leave  London,  communicating  particulars, 
and  you  will  see  me  before  long. 

"  On  Tuesday,  the  11th,  Ave  entered  the  Cove  of  Cork  at  sunset; 
the  squadron  at  four  o'clock.  On  Wednesday,  the  12ih,  I  set  off  on 
foot  for  the  city  of  Cork,  distant  thirteen  miles,  a  most  beautiful 
walk.  At  nine  o'clock,  I  took  a  seat  in  the  mail-coach,  and  was  off 
for  Killarney.  In  the  coach  were  a  Captain  and  Mrs.  Baillie,  young 
people  w'ho  had  been  in  India,  and  near  relatives  of  the  Major  and 
Mrs.  Barlow.     We  became  friends. 

"  At  Killarney  found  that  Mrs.  Cashel*  was  not  there!  ought  to 
have  known  that  before.  Stormy  night,  so  kept  snug  in  a  good 
inn.  Thursday,  13th,  left  Killarney  in  a  jingle  at  five  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  and  arrived  at  Marino  Lodge,  on  the  Kenmare,  distance 
twenty  miles,  before  nine  o'clock.  Found  the  family  all  well,  ex- 
cept Mrs.  Cashel,  who  has  an  asthmatic  cough,  which  mention  to 
nobody.  I  will  amuse  you  wheii  we  meet  with  my  account  of  my 
visit  to  that  quarter.  Nothing  could  exceed  their  kindness,  and 
she  admires  you  beyond  all.  On  Friday,  the  14th,  left  ]\Iarino 
Lodge  in  a  taxed  cart  at  five  o'ch)ck,  and  went  nearly  twenty  miles 
through  mountains  to  a  place  on  the  Cork  road,  where  the  mail 
overtook  us.  Got  in — and  afterwards  out — after  being  txcice  tq>- 
set,  and  three  times  h;df  upset.  jNIore  of  that  anon  ;  no  bones 
broken.  I  have  just  dined  in  tlie  eoffee-room  with  three  very  a'^i-eo- 
able  Irishmen,  whose  names  I  do  not  know,  but  who  asked  me  to 
drink  wine  as  the  Professor.     I  am  just  about  to  set  off  for  the 

•  Ills  slater. 


358  MEMOIR   OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

*  Vernon'  in  a  jingle  ;  and  I  hear  that  we  sail  to-morrow  (Saturday, 
the  15th),  at  five  o'clock  a.  m.  Indeed,  Sir  F.  Collier  told  me  so 
before  I  left  the  ship.  I  thought  it  would  or  might  seem  unkind 
not  to  see  Grace  Avhen  I  was  in  Ireland,  and  therefore  I  travelled 
100  miles  for  that  purpose,  being  with  them  just  twenty  hours. 
You  must  not  be  incensed  with  the  shortness  of  this  letter,  for  you 
must  perceive  that  I  have  been  in  a  dreadful  racket.  1  intend 
writing  another  letter  to  Sym  on  our  way  up  to  Portsmouth ;  but 
do  not  say  any  thing  about  it.  If  your  letter  has  come  thus  far,  it 
will  be  lying  for  me  to-night  on  board  the  'Vernon.'  Tenderest 
love  to  the  Graces,  and  also  to  the  lads  at  EUeray,  I  hope  you  will 
be  kind  to  the  old  man  on  his  return — all  of  you.  Yours  ever,  most 
afiectionately,  John  Wilson." 

"  UxiON'  Hotel,  Charixg  Cross, 
TuescUvj  Afternoon,  September  2jth,  1832. 

"My  dearest  Jane: — The  'Vernon'  anchored  at  Spithead  this 
day  week,  and  the  day  following  I  Avrote  to  Sym,  who  would  tell 
you  of  my  welfare.  I  got  your  Cork  letter  on  the  Thursday,  and 
on  Friday  I  bade  farewell  to  the  '  Varmint'  (as  she  is  called),  and 
dined  on  shore  with  the  Williamses,  vv^ho  have  a  house  at  Ports- 
mouth. That  night  I  took  coach  to  London,  where  I  arrived 
about  six  o'clock,  and  went  to  bed  for  some  hours.  I  found  your 
letter  lying  for  me  soon  after  breakfast,  and  was  rejoiced  to  find 
you  were  all  well.  On  Saturday,  Dr.  Maginn  dined  Avith  me ;  and 
on  Sunday  I  called  on  Mrs.  S.  C.  Hall  and  husband,  Miss  Landon, 
and  Thomas  Campbell,  with  the  last,  not  least,  of  whom  I  passed 
the  evening.  There  is  a  Captain  Coryton  (of  the  Marines)  on  board 
the  '  Vernon,'  whose  wife  and  family  live  at  Woolwich.  I  promised 
to  call  on  them  to  tell  them  about  him,  and  his  mode  of  life,  aiirl 
did  so  on  Monday,  having  walked  thither  and  back  (about  twenty 
miles).  He  is  to  be  absent  for  three  years  in  South  America.  I 
retiuncd  to  London  by  seven,  and  dined  with  a  German  liaron, 
whose  name  I  can  neither  spell  nor  pronounce,  a  Polish  X'.itriot, 
(not  Shirma),  and  a  French  royalist.  On  Tuesday,  that  is,  this  day, 
after  some  business  connected  with  my  cruise,  I  called  on  Mr.-. 
Jamieson,  author  of  Ki?ir^  Charles's  Beauties.  She  is  very  clever, 
middle-aged,  red-haired,  and  agreeable,  though  I  suspect  you  would 
c;dl   her   a   cnuceited    min.v.     She   is  to  send  some  Italian  airs  tCi 


LITERARY    AND    DOMi:STI0    LIFE.  359 

the  guitar  for  Maggie,  to  the  hotel  this  evening.  I  am  going  to 
dine  to-day  at  the  Literary  Union,  with  Campbell  and  some  others. 
To-morrow  I  shall  be  busy  all  day,  calling  on  naval  oilicers,  and  at 
the  Admiralty,  nor  could  I  have  sooner  done  so.  And  on  Thurs- 
day,  I  shall  leave  London  for  York  in  one  of  the  morning  coaches. 
This  will  enable  me  to  stop  some  hours  there  to  rest,  and  I  shall  be 
in  Edinburgh  on  Saturday  afternoon  ;  I  do  not  know  at  what  hour, 
but  I  believe  tico  or  three  after  the  mail,  unless  I  take  my  place  in 
the  mail  from,  York.  The  gals  can  ask  Bob  at  what  hour  any 
coach  arrives  in  Edinburgh  from  York,  besides  the  maih  I  should 
think  he  will  know.  But  should  any  thing  detain  me,  it  will  only 
be  ray  not  getting  a  place  at  York.  The  gals  may  take  a  look  at  the 
mail,  perhaps  on  Saturday.  I  need  say  no  more  than  that  I  shall 
be  truly  happy  to  find  you  all  well  and  happy,  as  you  deserve  to  be. 
God  bless  you  all !     Yours  ever  affectionately, 

"  John  Wilson." 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

LITERARY     AND     DOMESTIC     LIFE. 

1832-37. 

The  following  letter  will  be  read  with  interest  : 

"London,  November ZQ,  1832. 
"Sir  : — You  have  often,  and  'on  the  Hialto''  too,  twitted  me  with 
an  addition  to  Sonnets,  and  '  sxich  small  deer'  of  poetry,  sometimes 
in  a  spirit  of  good-humor,  at  others  in  that  tone  of  raillery  which  is 
60  awful  to  young  gentlemen  given  to  rhyming  love  and  dove.  Yet, 
notwithstanding  the  terrors  of  your  frown,  I  think  there  is  so  much 
of  the  milk  of  human  kindness  blending  up  with  that  rough  nature 
of  youi-s,  as  would  prevent  you  from  willingly  hurting  the  weak 
and  the  defenceless ;  on  the  contrary,  if  Master  Feeble  acknowl- 
edged his  failing  in  a  becoming  manner,  I  can  believe  that  you 
would  put  the  timid  gentleman  on  his  legs,  pat  his  head,  cocker  his 
alarmed  features  into  a  complacent  smile,  and,  giving  him   some 


360  MEMOIR   OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

tiling  nice,  wasliing  it  down  witli  a  jorum  of  wliiskey-toddy,  send 
him  home  to  his  lodgings  and  hmdlndy  witli  your  compliments,  so 
that  I,  yon  will  perceive,  have  no  bad  opinion  of  your  lionship. 

"You  can  do  me  a  great  good;  and  when  I  assure  you,  which  I 
do  seriously  and  in  all  sincerity,  that  I  seek  not  your  favor  in  the 
spirit  of  vanity,  that  I  may  plume  myself  with  it  hereafter  ;  and 
wheu  I  tell  you  that  I  have  ventured  on  this  publication  not  to  ex- 
alt myself,  but,  if  possible,  to  benefit  some  poor  relations,  weighed 
down  by  the  pressure  of  our  bad  times,  I  am  sure  that  I  may  rely 
on  your  appreciating  my  motive,  whatever  you  may  think  of  the 
means  I  have  taken  to  work  it  out. 

"  One  thing  more  I  would  say ;  these  poems,  such  as  they  are, 
are  the  productions  of  a  self-educated  man,  who,  in  his  tenth  year 
of  childhood,  with  little  more  than  a  knowledge  of  his  Readhif/ 
Made  Easy,  was  driven  out  into  the  world  to  seek  his  bread,  and 
pick  up  such  acquirements  as  he  could  meet  with  ;  these  are  not 
many,  for  he  was  not  lucky  enough  to  meet  with  many.  Tiiis  is 
a  foct  which  I  do  not  care  that  the  public  should  know,  for  what 
has  that  monster  so  well  off  for  heads  to  do  with  it ;  nor,  perhaps, 
have  you  ;  I  have  mentioned  it  merely  because  I  could  not  conceal 
it  at  this  moment,  when  the  disadvantages  it  has  surrounded  me  with 
return  upon  me  like  old  grievances  for  a  time  foi-gotten,  but  come 
back  again  to  'sight  and  seeing,' as  palpable  as  ever,  and  as  pro- 
vokiiig. 

"Enough  of  myself.  There  are  many  errors  in  the  book  staring 
me  out  of  countenance.  While  it  was  in  the  press  I  was  danger- 
ously ill,  and,  therefore,  paid  but  little  and  distracted  attention  to  it. 
Think,  then,  as  mercifully  of  me  and  mine  as  you  can  ;  and  though, 
when  you  are  frolicsome,  you  love  to  spatter  us  poor  cockneys, 
sometimes  justly  enough,  at  others  not  so,  believe  that  I  can  can- 
didly appreciate  the  power  and  the  beauty  of  some  parts  of  Jilack- 
icood''s  Mafjazine,  and  that  I  am,  all  ditferences  notwithst:uidiiig, 
your  humble  servant,  ,"* 

In  my  mother's  letters  during  1833  and  1834,  the  strong  political 
feelings  of  the  time  are  occasionally  exhibited.     In  one  she  says : 

•  The  sienatnre  of  this  letter  has  been  torn  off,  but  the  letter  itself  is  indorsed  "from  Charles 
Lamb  to  Professor  Wilson."  I  nm.  however,  afraid  that  it  is  not  the  production  of  "Elia,"  and 
lis  I  am  not  familiar  with  the  handwriting,  I  cannot  say  who  is  the  writer,  or  whet)"ir  the  appeal 
Was  ivsponded  to. 


I.ITKKAKV    AM)    DOMESTIC    LIFE.  3G I 

"We  are  all  terribly  disgustetl  and  annoyed  at  the  result  of  the  late 
elections.  I  never  look  into  a  newspaper  now  ;  and  my  only  com- 
fort is  in  reading  the  |)olitical  |)apers  in  Blackwood^  and  renu'niber- 
ing  that  I  have  lived  in  the  times  of  the  Georges."  Again  she  writes  : 
"What  do  you  think  of  Church  and  State  affairs?  We  are  in  a 
pretty  way ;  oh,  for  the  good  old  times !  Thank  Heaven,  while  Mr. 
Wilson  can  hold  a  pen,  it  will  be  wielded  in  defence  of  the  right 
cause."  His  pen,  indeed,  was  not  allowed  to  lie  idle  at  this  time, 
as  the  reader  will  find  by  referring  to  his  contributions.  During 
1833-34  lie  wrote  no  fewer  than  fifty-four  articles  for  Blackwood, 
or  upwards  of  2,400  closely  printed  columns  on  politics  and  generai 
literature.  Among  these  were  reviews  of  Ebenezer  Elliot*  and 
Audubon,  the  ornithologist,  which  crdled  forth  interesting  and 
characteristic  repUes. 

FROM  EBENEZER  ELLIOT. 

"Sheffield,  %fh  May,  1834. 
"Mr.  Professor  : — I  do  not  write  merely  to  thank  you  for  your 
almost  fatherly  criticism  on  my  poetry,  but  to  say,  that  when  I  sent 
that  unhappy  letter,  addressed,  I  suppose,  to  the  Editor  of  BUick" 
woods  Ma(ja:dne^  I  knew  not  that  the  Professor  was  the  editor.  I 
had  been  told  that  the  famous  rural  articles  were  yours,  and  the 
'  Noctes.'  This  was  all  I  knew  of  that  terrible  incarnation  of  the 
Scotch  Thistle,  Christopher  North.  I  had  judged  from  his  portrait 
on  the  cover  of  the  Magazine.  I  understand  it  is  a  true  portrait  of 
Mr.  Blafikwood,  whose  name  even  now  involuntarily  brings  before 
my  imagination  a  personage  ready  to  flay  poor  Radicals  alive. 
When  at  length  I  understood  you  was  the  editor,  I  still  thought 
you  was  only  the  successor  of  C.  North,  the  dreadful.  The  letter 
must  have  been  the  result  of  despair.  The  Monthhj  Review  had 
stricken  me  on  the  heart  with  a  hand  of  ice,  but  I  had  fuled  to 
attract  the  attention  of  the  critics  generally  ;  and  perhaps  I  ^heo 
thought  that  even  an  unfavorable  notice  in  Blackwood  would  bt 
better  than  none.  But  when  I  was  told,  a  few  days  ago,  that  I  was 
reviewed  in  '  Mnga,'  I  expected  I  was  done  for,  never  to  hold  up 
my  head  again.  Having  no  copy  of  the  letter  I  know  not  what 
vileness  it  may  contain,  besides  the  sad  vulgarityf  unlortunately 

*  Ebenezer  Elliot,  the  Oorn-I.aw  Rhymer,  was  born  in  \'^\  ;  lie  diod  in  1849. 

t  "Mr.  Elliot  \v:is  ;.U-i'>cil,  a  gip.i.l  while  a^o,  in  a  letter,  the  reverse  of  flatVrnng,  ixMressod  to 

15* 


Ob'2  MKMOIU    OF    .IclIN     \V  I  I.SOX. 

quoted,  auJ  lor  which  I  bhish  through  my  marrow  ;  but  on  the 
word  of  a  poet,  whose  tiction  is  truth,  when  I  wrote  it  I  was  no 
more  aware,  than  if  you  had  never  been  born,  that  I  was  writing  to 
Professor  Wilson.  I  shouKl  hate  myself  if  I  could  delibei  ately  have 
sent  a  disrespectful  letter  to  the  author  of  those  inimitable  rural 
pictures,  which,  before  God,  I  believe  have  lengthened  my  days  on 
earth. 

"After  your  almost  saintly  forbearance,  I  must  nvjt  bother  you 
about  the  Corn-Laws  ;  but  I  will  just  observe  that  in  our  Island  of 
Jersey,  where  (perjury  [sic]  excepted)  the  trade  in  corn  is  free, 
land  lets  much  higher  than  in  England.  But  is  it  not  a  shame  that 
wheat  should  be  sent  from  Holland  to  Jersey,  after  incurring  heavy 
charges,  and  the  Dutchman's  profit,  and  then  be  sent  to  England  as 
the  produce  of  Jersey  ?  Poor  John  Bull  paying  for  all  out  of  his 
workhouse  wages,  or  the  sixteen-pence  which  he  receives  for  four- 
teen hours'  factory  labor  in  the  climate  of  Jamaica. 

'••  What  is  to  follow  such  legislation  ?  I  am,  with  heartfelt  respect 
and  thankfulness,  Ebenezek  Elliot." 

I  cannot  resist  giving  a  passage  from  an  article  which  aflfbrdedthe 
author  of  the  Corn-Law  Rhymes  so  much  genuine  pleasure : — 

"  Ebenezer  Elliot  does — not  only  now  and  then,  but  often — ru- 
ralize ;  with  the  intense  passionateuess  of  a  line  spirit  escaping  from 
smoke  and  slavery  into  the  fresh  air  of  freedom — with  the  tender- 
ness of  a  gentle  spirit  communing  with  nature  in  Sabbath-rest. 
Greedily  he  gulps  the  dewy  breath  of  morn,  like  a  man  who  has 
been  long  suffering  from  thirst  drinking  at  a  wayside  well.  He  feasts 
upon  the  flowers — with  his  eyes,  with  his  lips  ;  he  walks  along  the 
grass  as  if  it  were  cooling  to  his  feet.  The  slow  typhus  fever  per- 
petual with  townsmen  is  changed  into  a  quick  gladsome  glow,  like 
the  life  of  life.  A  strong  animal  pleasure  possesses  the  limbs  and 
frame  of  the  strong  man  released  from  labor,  yet  finding  no  leisure 
to  loiter  in  the  lanes — and  away  with  him  to  the  woods  and  rocks 
and  heaven-kissing  hills.  But  that  is  not  all  his  pleasure — though 
it  might  suffice,  one  would  think,  for  a  slave.  Through  all  his 
senses  it  penet -ates  into  his  soul — and  his  soul  gets  wmgsand  soars. 

ns,  and  written  wit'.i  his  uwn  hard  hoof  of  a  hand,  to  call  U8  a  'big  bine-bottle,'  but  we  boar  no 
roscuiblance  to  tbar  insect,"  &c,— From  "Poetry  of  E.  KUiot,"  in  BlackwiMHTa  JIagaaim, 
May,  l&iit 


LITERARY    AND    DOMESTIC    LIFE,  303 

Yes  ;  it  has  the  wings  of  a  dove,  and  flees  away — and  is  at  rest ! 
Where  are  tlie  heaven-kissing  hills  in  Hallamshire  ?  Here,  and 
there,  and  everywhere — tor  the  sky  stoops  down  to  kiss  them — and 
the  presence  ot"  a  poet  scares  not  away,  but  consecrates  their  em- 
braces 

'  Uuder  the  opening  eyelids  of  the  morn.' 

Of  such  kind  is  the  love  of  nature  that  breaks  out  in  all  the  com- 
positions of  this  town-bred  poet.  Nature  to  hiiu  is  a  mistress  whom 
he  cannot  visit  when  he  will,  and  whom  he  woos,  not  stealthily, 
but  by  snatches — snatches  torn  from  time,  and  shortened  by  joy 
that  '  thinks  down  hours  to  moments.'  Even  in  her  sweet  com- 
panionship he  fseenis  scarcely  ever  altogether  forgetful  of  the  place 
from  which  he  made  his  escape  to  rush  into  her  arms,  and  clasp  her 
to  his  breast,  lie  knows  that  his  bliss  must  be  brief,  and  that  an 
iron  voice,  like  a  kuell,  is  ringing  him  back  to  dust  and  ashes.  So  he 
smothers  her  with  kisses — and  tearing  himself  away — again  with 
bare  arms  he  is  beating  at  the  anvil,  and  feels  that  man  is  born  to 
trouble  as  the  sparks  fly  upwards.  For  Ebenezcr  Elliot,  gentle 
reader,  is  a  worker  in  iron  ;  that  is — to  use  his  own  words — '  a 
dealer  in  steel,  working  hard  every  day ;  literally  laboring  with  my 
head  and  hands,  and  alas,  loith  my  heart  too!  If  you  think  the 
steel-trade,  in  these  2)^oJiiless  days,  is  not  a  heavy,  hard-working 
trade,  come  and  break  a  ton.'' 

"  We  have  worked  at  manual  labor  for  our  amusement,  but,  it 
was  so  ordered,  never  for  bread  ;  for  reefing  and  reeving  can  hardly 
be  called  manual  labor — it  comes  to  be  as  facile  to  the  fingers  as  the 
brandishing  of  this  present  pen.  We  have  ploughed,  sowed,  reajied, 
mowed,  pitchforked,  threshed  ;  and  put  heart  an<l  knee  to  the  gave- 
lock  hoisting  rocks.  But  not  for  a  day's  darg,  and  not  for  bread. 
Now  here  lies  the  effectual  and  vital  distinction  between  the  condi- 
tion of  our  poet  and  his  critic — between  the  condition  of  Ebeuezer 
KUiot  and  that  of  all  our  other  poets,  except  Robert  Burns."* 

The  next  letter  is  from  Mr.  Audubon  ;f — 

"  My  dear  Fkiexd  : — The  first  hour  of  this  new  year  was  ushered 
to  me  surrounded  by  my  dear  flock,  all  comfortably  seated  around 

*  BlackwooiVa  Magazine.  Miiy,  ISM. 

t  J.  .1.  Audubou,  author  of  Tlie  Birds  of  America,  c6c.,  died  lo  183L 


304-  MTMOIR    OF    .lOH.V    WIT.?(>N. 

a  small  table,  in  a  middle-sized  room,  where  I  sincerely  wished 
had  been  also,  to  witness  the  flowinsc  gladness  of  our  sen se«,  as  from 
one  of  us  'Audubon's  Ornithologrical  Biography'  was  read  from 
your  eve'-  valuable  Journal.  I  wished  this  because  I  felt  assured 
that  your  noble  heart  would  have  received  our  most  grateful  thanks 
with  i»leasure,  the  instant  our  simple  ideas  had  conveyed  to  you  the 
grant  of  happiness  we  experienced  at  your  hands.  You  were  not 
with  us,  alas  !  but  to  make  amends  the  best  way  we  could,  all  of  a 
common  accord  drank  to  the  health,  prosperity,  and  long  life, 
of  our  generous,  talented,  and  ever  kind  friend,  Professor  John 
Wilson,  and  all  those  amiable  beings  who  cling  around  his  heart ! 
May  those  our  sincerest  wishes  reach  you  soon,  and  may  they  be 
sealed  by  Him  who  granted  us  existence,  and  the  joys  heaped  upon 
the  '  American  woodsman '  and  his  family,  in  your  hospitable  land, 
and  may  we  deserve  all  the  benefits  we  have  received  in  your  ever 
dear  country,  although  it  may  prove  impossible  to  us  to  do  more 
than  to  be  ever  grateful  to  her  worthy  sons. 

"  Accept  our  respectful  united  regards,  and  offer  them  to  your 
family,  whilst  I  remain,  with  highest  esteem,  your  truly  thankful 
friend  and  most  obedient  servant,  John  J.  Audubox." 

The  next  letter  is  from  the  Rev.  James  White  :* — 

'•  LoxLET,  Stratford-ox- Avoy, 
4th  Xovember,  1834. 
"  My  dear  Sir  : — The  last  was  an  admirable  '  Noctes,'  and  in 
my  opinion,  makes  up  for  the  one  for  July.     After  describing  the 
party  at  Carnegie's,  who  did  you  mean  by  the  ass  that,  after  bray- 
ing loud  enough  to  deafen  Christopher,  went  braying  all  over  the 

*  The  Rev.  J.  White,  of  Bonchurch,  Isle  of  Wight,  author  of  Sir  Frizzi-e  Pumpkin,  Xiffhit  at 
Mm«,  tl-c.  and  other  stories,  died  March  2S,  1S6'2,  aged  fifty-eight.  "Mr.  White,  says  the  Edin^ 
burgh  Courant.  who  was  a  native  of  this  country,  where  his  family  still  possess  considerabi* 
property,  was  born  in  the  year  1604.  After  studyiug  with  success  at  Glasgow  and  Oxford,  he  took 
orders  in  the  Church  of  England,  and  was  presented  by  Lord  Brougham  to  a  living  in  Suffolk, 
which  he  afterwards  gave  up  for  another  in  Warwickshire,  On  ultimately  succeeding  tn  a  con- 
Biderable  patrimony,  he  retired  from  the  t'hurch  and  removed  with  his  family  to  the  Isle  of  Wight, 
where  .Mrs,  White  had  inherited  from  her  father.  Colonel  HilL,  of  St  Boniface,  a  portion  of  his 
estate,  Bonchurch.  so  celebrated  for  its  beauty  and  mild  climate.  His  retirement  enabled  him  ti 
devote  a  coLsiderabte  share  of  his  time  to  literary  pursuits,  which  he  prosecuted  with  much  sue- 
^ss.  The  pages  it{  Blackvood  were  enlivened  by  many  of  his  contributions  of  a  light  kind,  too 
popular  and  well  known  to  reo.uire  to  be  enumerated ;  and  his  later  works,  including  the  EighUtm 
<'/iristian  Cmitui'ie>i  and  the  History  of  France,  showed  that  his  industry  and  accuracy,  bS  well 
w  his  good  sensK?  and  sound  judgment,  were  not  inferior  to  his  other  and  more  popular  talenta."— 
^itntleinun't  Jfdfftuiue. 


LITEKAKY    AND    DOMESTIC    LIFE.  365 

Borders  ?  You  unconscionable  monster,  did  you  mean  me  ?  Vicar 
of  the  consolidated  livings  of  Loxley  and  Bray  !  I  console  myselt 
with  thinking  it  is  something  to  be  mentioned  in  the  '  Noctes,' 
though  in  no  higher  character  than  an  ass. 

"  Have  you  ever  thought  of  making  Hogg  a  metempsychosist  ? 
what  a  famous  description  he  would  give  of  his  feelings  when  he 
was  a  whale  (the  one  that  swallowed  Jonah),  or  a  tiger,  or  an  ante- 
diluvian aligautor  near  the  Falls  of  Niagara,  his  disgust  after  being 
shot  as  an  eagle,  to  find  himself  a  herd  at  the  head  of  Ettriek  !* 

"  Do  you  think  of  coming  to  England  next  year  ?  Remember, 
whenever  you  do,  you  have  promised  me  a  benefit.  Has  Blair 
come  up  to  college  yet  ?  If  he  has,  I  wish  you  would  for  once 
write  me  a  letter  with  his  address  ;  for,  as  I  am  only  a  day's  drive 
from  Oxford,  I  should  be  most  happy  to  show  him  this  part  of  the 
country  in  the  short  vacation.  My  wife  desires  to  be  very  kindly 
remembered  to  you  and  Mrs.  Wilson,  not  forgetting  the  young 
ladies.     And  I  remain,  ever  yours  very  truly, 

"James  White." 

Attention  to  the  ordinary  course  of  duties,  and  the  numerous 
occupations  which  engrossed  his  daily  life,  never  stood  in  the  way 
of  my  father's  endeavors  to  be  useful  to  his  fellow-men.  An  ex- 
ample of  this  may  be  seen  in  his  correspondence  with  a  mutual 
friend,  in  order  to  pacify  and  to  restore  Mr.  Hogg  to  his  former 
position  with  Mr.  Blackwood.  This  labor,  for  such  it  was,  ended 
ultimately  to  the  satisfaction  of  all  parties,  and  the  correspondence 
which  led  to  that  result  is  truly  honorable  to  the  writers. 

"  My  dear  Shepherd  : — From  the  first  blush  of  the  business,  I 
greatly  disliked  your  quai-rel  with  the  Blackwoods,  and  often 
wished  to  be  instrumental  in  putting  an  end  to  it,  but  I  saw  no 
opening,  and  did  not  choose  to  be  needlessly  obtrusive.  Hearing 
that  you  would  rather  it  was  made  up,  and  not  doubting  that  Mr 
Blackwood  would  meet  you  for  that  purpose  in  an  atnicable  spirit, 
I  volunteer  my  services — if  you  and  he  choose  to  accept  of  them — 
as  mediator. 

"  I  propose  this — that  all  mere  diflferences  on  this,  and  that,  and 

•  This  liint  appears  to  have  been  nctod  upon,  as  those  who  are  interested  may  read  tliu  Shtp- 
lierd  s  t'.aiisniigratlons  I'nlly  detailed  in  the  "  Noctes"  of  FcbrUHrj',  1885. 


306  MliMOIR   OF    JOHN    WILSON. 

every  subject,  and  all  asperities  of  sentiment  or  language  on  either 
side,  be  at  once  forgotten,  and  never  once  alluded  to — ^so  that  there 
shall  be  asked  no  explanation  nor  apology,  but  each  of  you  con- 
tinue to  think  yourself  in  the  right,  without  taking  the  trouble  to 
say  so. 

"  But  you  have  accused  Mr.  Blackwood  in  your  correspondence 
with  him,  as  I  understand,  of  shabbiness,  meanness,  selfish  motives, 
and  almost  dishonesty.  In  your  Memoir  there  is  an  allusion  to 
some  transaction  about  a  bill,  which  directly  charges  Mr.  Black- 
wood with  v\ant  of  integrity.  In  that  light  it  was  received  by  a 
knave  and  fool  in  Eraser's  Magazine^  and  on  it  was  founded  a  pub- 
lic charge  of  downright  dishonesty  against  a  perfectly  honorable 
and  honest  man.  Xow,  my  good  sir,  insinuations  or  accusations  of 
this  kind  are  quite  '  another  guess  matter'  from  mere  ebullitions  of 
temper,  and  it  is  impossible  that  Mr.  Blackwood  can  ever  make  up 
any  quarrel  with  any  man  icho  doubts  his  integrity.  It  is  your 
bouuden  duty,  therefore,  to  make  amends  to  him  on  this  subject. 
But  even  here  I  would  not  counsel  any  apology,  I  would  say  that 
it  is  your  duty  as  an  honest  man  to  say  fully,  and  freely,  and 
unequivocally  that  you  know  Mi\  Blackwood  to  be  one,  and  in  all 
his  dealings  with  you  he  has  behaved  as  one.  This  avowal  is  no 
more  than  he  is  entitled  to  from  you ;  and,  of  course,  it  should  be 
taken  in  lieu  of  an  apology.  As  to  writing  henceforth  in  '  Maga,'  I 
am  sure  it  will  give  me  the  greatest  pleasure  to  see  the  Shepherd 
adorning  that  work  with  his  friends  again;  and,  in  that  case,  it 
would  be  graceful  and  becoming  in  you  to  address  Mr.  Blackwood 
in  terms  of  esteem,  such  as  would  remove  from  all  minds  any  idea 
that  you  ever  wished  to  accuse  him  of  want  of  principle.  I  should 
think  that  would  be  agi'eeable  to  yourself,  and  that  it  would  be 
agreeable  to  all  who  feel  the  kindest  interest  in  your  character  and 
reputation.  In  this  way  you  would  both  appear  in  your  true  colors, 
and  to  the  best  advantage. 

"As  for  the  Noctes  Amhrosianm^  that  is  a  subject  in  which  I  am 
chiefly  concerned  ;  and  there  shall  never  be  another  with  you  in  it, 
if  indeed  that  he  disagreeable  to  you! ! !  But  all  the  idiots  in  ex- 
istence shall  never  persuade  me  that  in  those  dialogues  you  are  not 
respected  and  honored,  and  that  they  have  not  spread  the  fame  of 
your  genius  and  your  virtues  all  over  Europe,  America,  Asia,  and 
Africa.     If  there   be  another   man   who   has   done   more  for  your 


LITERAKY    AND    DOMESTIC    LIFE.  367 

fame  than  7"  have  done,  let  me  know  in  what  region  of  the  moon  he 
has  taken  up  liis  abode.  But  let  the  '  Noctes'  drop,  or  let  us  talk 
upon  that  subject,  if  you  choose,  that  we  may  find  out  Avhich  of  us 
is  insane,  perliaps  both. 
^  "  Sliow  tliis  letter  to  the  Grays — our  friends — and  let  them  say 
whether  or  not  it  be  reasonable,  and  if  any  good  is  likely  to  result 
from  my  services.  I  have  written  of  my  own  accord,  and  without 
any  autliority  from  Mr.  Blackwood,  but  entirely  from  believing  that 
his  kindness  towards  you  Avould  dispose  him  to  make  the  matter  up 
at  once,  on  the  one  condition  which,  as  an  honest  man,  I  would 
advise  him  to  consider  essential,  and  without  which,  indeed,  he 
could  not  listen  to  any  proposal.  I  am,  my  dear  sir,  your  affec- 
tionate friend,  John  Wilson." 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Hogg  : — Your  letter  in  answer  to  mine  is  Avritten 
as  mine  was,  in  a  friendly  spirit ;  but  on  considering  its  various 
contents,  I  feel  that  I  can  be  of  no  use  at  present  in  effecting  a  re- 
conciliation between  you  and  Mr.  Blackwood.  I  was  induced  to 
oft'er  my  services  by  my  OAvn  sincere  regard  for  you,  and  by  the 
wishes  of  Mrs.  Izett  and  Mr.  Grieve ;  but  it  rarely  happens  that  an 
unaccredited  mediator  between  offended  friends  in  a  somewhat 
complicated  quarrel  can  effect  any  good.  Should  you,  at  any  future 
time,  wish  me  to  give  an  opinion  in  this  matter,  or  advice  of  any 
sort,  you  Avill  find  me  ready  to  do  so  with  the  utmost  sincerity,  I 
will  merely  mention  to  Mr.  Grieve,  who  was  desirous  of  having 
you  and  Mr.  lilackwood  and  myself  to  diimer,  that  I  wrote  you, 
and  had  an  answer  from  you ;  but  I  shall  leave  you  to  tell  him  or 
not,  as  you  please,  what  passed  between  us.  That  I  may  not  f;Ul 
into  any  unintentional  mis-statement,  I  will  likewise  tell  Mr.  Black- 
wood the  same,  and  no  more,  that  I  may  not  do  more  harm  than 
good  by  having  taken  any  step  in  the  affair.  If  you  never  have 
made  any  accusation  of  the  kind  I  mentioned  against  Mr.  Black- 
wood, then  am  I  ignorant  of  the  merits  of  the  case  altogether,  and 
my  interference  is  only  an  additional  instance  of  the  danger  of  vol- 
imtcering  counsel,  with  erroneous  impressions  of  the  relative  situa- 
tion of  thp  parties.  I  proposed  a  plan  of  reconciliation,  Avhich 
seemed  to  me  to  make  no  unpleasant  demand  on  either  party,  and 
wliich  was  extremely  simple ;  but  it  would  seem  that  I  took  for 
grantid  ceitain  acrus.uions  or  in^inuations  against  Mr.  Blackwood's 


8G8  MKMulli    tiF    JcilI.N     \VILS(.)N. 

character  as  a  man  of  business,  Avhich  you  never  made.  I  am, 
tliert'lbre,  in  the  dark,  and  require  to  be  instructed,  instead  of  being 
]»rivileged  to  counsel.  "With  every  kind  sentiment,  I  am,  my  dear 
sir,  yours  most  sincerely,  John  Wilsox." 

In  a  long  letter  to  Mr.  Grieve,  my  father  is  at  great  pains  to  clear 
up  tlie  matter,  and  effect  the  mucli-desired  reconciliation  on  terms 
honorable  to  both  parties.     He  says  : — 

"If  Mr.  Hogg  puts  his  retm-n  as  a  writer  to  '  Maga,'  on  the 
groimd  that  '  Maga'  suffers  greatly  fi-om  his  absence  from  her  pages, 
and  that  JNFr.  B.  must  be  very  desirous  of  his  re-assi.stance,  that  will 
at  once  be  a  stumbling-block  in  the  way  of  settlement ;  for  Mr.  B., 
whether  rightly  or  wrongly,  Avill  not  make  the  admission.  No 
doubt  Mr.  H.'s  articles  were  often  excellent,  and  no  doubt  the 
'  Xoctes '  were  very  popular,  but  the  Magazine,  however  much 
many  readers  must  have  missed  Mr.  Hogg  and  the  '  Noctes,'  has 
been  gradually  increasing  in  sale,  and  therefore  Mr.  B.  will  never 
give  in  to  that  view  of  the  subject. 

"  Mr.  Hogg,  in  his  letter  to  me,  and  in  a  long  conversation  I  had 
with  him  in  my  own  house  yesterday  after  dinner,  sticks  to  his 
proposal  of  having  iJlOO  settled  on  him,  on  condition  of  writing, 
and  of  becoming  again  the  hero  of  the  '  Noctes,'  as  before.  I  see 
manj',  many  difficulties  in  the  way  of  such  an  arrangement,  and  I 
know  that  Mr.  Blackwood  will  never  agree  to  it  in  that  shape ;  for 
it  might  eventually  i)rove  degrading  and  disgraceful  to  both  par- 
ties, api)earing  to  the  public  to  be  a  bribe  given  and  taken  dishon- 
orably. 

"  But  nothing  can  be  more  reasonable  than  for  Mr.  Hogg  to  make 
£100  or  more  by  'Maga,'  and  by  the  Agrictdtiiral  Jor(rnal.  If  he 
writer  again  for  both,  Mr.  B.  is  bound  to  pay  him  handsomely  and 
generously,  as  an  old  friend  and  man  of  genius  ;  and  no  doubt  he 
will  do  so,  so  that  if  Mr.  Hogg  exert  himself  to  a  degree  yott  and 
/think  reasonable,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  he  will  get  £100  or 
more  from  Mr.  ]Jlackwood,  without  any  positive  bargain  of  the 
kind  above  mentioned,  which  might  injure  Mr.  Hogg's  reputation, 
anil  appear  to  the  puljlic  in  a  degrading  light. 

'•To  insure  this,  no7ie  of  Mr.  JIo</[fs  articles  should  ever  again 
he  returned.     If  now  and  then  any  of  them    are  inadmissible  th^y 


LITKRART    AND    DOMESTIC    LIFE.  369 

should  still  he  paid  foi\  and  Mr.  Blackwood,  I  have  no  doubt, 
would  at  once  agree  to  that,  so  that  at  the  end  of  tlie  year  Mr. 
Hogg  would  have  received  his  £lOO  or  more,  witliout  any  objec- 
tionable condition,  and  on  reasonable  exertions. 

"And  now  a  few  words  about  myself.  The  Shepherd,  in  his  let- 
ter to  me  (wliich  you  have  seen,  I  believe),  seems  to  say  that  / 
ought  to  settle  the  £100  a  year  on  him,  and  that  he  is  willing  to 
receive  it  from  me,  if  I  think  it  will  be  for  my  own  benefit.  I  have 
said  nothing  about  this  to  him,  but  to  you  I  merely  say  that  I  never 
did  and  never  will  interfere  in  anyway  with  the  pecuniary  concerns 
of  the  Magazine,  tliat  being  the  affair  of  Mr.  Blackwood;  secondly^ 
that  of  all  the  writers  in  it,  I  have  done  most  for  the  least  renm- 
neration,  though  ]Mr.  B.  and  I  have  never  once  hail  one  word  of 
disagreement  on  that  subject;  and  thirdly,  that  it  is  a  matter  of 
the  most  perfect  indifference  to  me,  whether  or  not  I  ever  again 
write  anotlier  '  Noctes,'  for  all  that  I  write  on  any  subject  seems  to 
be  popular  far  above  its  deserts ;  and  considering  the  great  num- 
ber of  '  Noctes'  I  have  written,  I  feel  very  much  indisposed  ever 
to  resume  them.*  My  own  personal  gain  or  loss,  therefore,  must 
be  i)ut  out  of  sight  entirely  in  this  question  ;  as  I  can  neither  gain 
nor  lose  by  any  arrangement  between  Mr.  B.  and  Mr.  Hogg,  though 
the  Shepherd  thinks  otherwise. 

"This,  likewise,  must  and  will  be  considered  by  Mr.  Blackwood, 
whether  the  'Noctes'  can  be  resumed,  for  if  the  public  supjiosed 
that  /were  influenced  by  a  regard  to  my  own  interests  in  resuming 
them,  I  most  certainly  never  would  ;  ami  were  I  to  resume  them, 
and  Mr.  Hogg  again  to  prove  wilful,  and  order  them  to  be  discon- 
tinued, I  should  feel  myself  placed  in  a  condition  unworthy  of  me. 
I  wrote  the  '  Noctes'  to  benefit  and  do  honor  to  Mr.  Hogg,  much 
more  than  to  benefit  myself;  and  but  for  them,  he  with  ail  his  ex- 
traordinary powers  would  not  have  been  universally  known  as  he 
fDow  is ;  for  poetical  fame,  you  well  know,  is  fleeting  and  precarious. 
After  more  than  a  dozen  years'  acquiescence  and  delight  in  the 
'Noctes,'  the  Shepherd,  because  he  quarrelled  with  Mr.  IJlaekwood 
on  other  grounds,  puts  an  end  to  them,  which  by  the  by  he  had  no 
right  to  do.  It  is  for  me  to  consider  whether  I  can  resume  them; 
but  if  I  do,  it  must  be  clearly  understood  that  I  am  not  influenced 
by  self-interest,  but  merely  by  a  desire  to  bring  back  things  as  they 

*  .My  father  never  wrote  aiiotla-r  "  Noctis"  after  the  Shei.herd's  death,  which  took  place  in  1S35. 


370  MEMOIR    OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

were  before,  and  to  contribute  my  part  to  an  anncable  arrnnge- 
niem. 

"But  I  will  say  to  you  what  must  not  be  said  to  anybody  else, 
tliat  if  it  be  necessary,  owing  to  Mr.  Hogg  not  writing  a  sufficient 
number  of  articles  fit  for  insertion,  to  make  up  some  considerable 
earn  towards  £100  per  annum  being  given  to  him,  I  will  certainly 
contribute  half  of  it  along  with  Mr.  Blackwood. 

"There  are  various  other  points  to  be  attended  to.  The  ]\[aga- 
zine  noxo  is  the  least  personal  periodical  existing,  and  it  will  con- 
tinue so.  Now  Mr.  Hogg  may  wish  to  insert  articles  about  London 
and  so  on,  that  may  be  extremely  personal.  Mr.  Blackwood  could 
not  take  such  articles.  He  has  himself  ven'^on  to  be  oftended  with 
Mr.  Hogg's  writings  about  himself,  and  could  not  consistently  in 
like  manner  otFend  others.  Suppose  that  the  Shepherd  sent  such 
MS.  for  the  first  year  as  could  not  be  inserted  at  all,  is  Mr.  Black- 
wood to  be  paying  him  £100  for  nothing  ?  The  kind,  therefore,  of 
his  contributions  must  be  considered  by  '  James,'  though  he  may 
still  be  allowed  considerable  latitude. 

"  With  respect  to  past  quarrels,  they  should  at  once  be  forgotten 
by  both  parties,  and  not  a  word  said  about  them,  except  if  ^Ir. 
Hogg  has  published  any  thing  reflecting  on  Mr.  Blackwood's  intea- 
rity.  I  think  he  has.  That,  therefore,  must  be  done  away  with 
by  the  Shepherd  in  the  Magazine  itself,  but  not  iu  the  way  of  apol- 
ogy, but  in  a  manly  manner,  sucli  as  Avould  do  honor  to  himself,  and 
at  once  put  down  all  the  calutiinies  of  others,  to  which  Mr.  Black- 
wood has  been  unjustly  exposed,  especially  in  F'raser''s  Magazine. 
All  abuse  of  Mr.  Blackwood  in  that  work,  as  founded  on  his  be- 
havior to  Mr.  Hogg,  must,  by  3Ir.  Hogg,  be  put  a  stop  to  ;  for  if 
he  continues  to  write  in  Fraser,  and  to  allow  those  people  to  put 
into  his  mouth  whatever  they  choose  (and  they  hold  him  up  to  ridi- 
cule every  month  after  a  very  diiferent  fashion  from  the  Noctes  ! !), 
their  abuse  of  Mr,  Blackwood  will  seem  to  be  sanctioned  by  Mr. 
Hogg,  and  neutralize  whatever  he  may  say  in  '  jNIaga.'     This  is  phiiji. 

"  Consider  what  I  have  said  attentively,  and  I  will  call  on  you  on 
Tucadny  at  two  o\-loc/i,  and  will  explain  a  few  other  matters  perhaps 
tedious  to  write  upon.  After  that,  the  sooner  you  see  Mr.  B.  the 
better,  and  I  think  an  arrangement  may  be  made,  iu  itself  reasona- 
ble and  beneficial  to  all  parties,  on  the  above  basis.  Yours  ever 
afi"ectionately,  John  Wilson." 


LITKRARV    AND    I)()Mi:STI€    LIFK.  Oii 

The  result  of  these  friendly  negotiations  may  be  gatliered  from 
the  "Xoctes"  of  May  1834,  in  which  there  is  a  lively  and  most 
amusing  description  of  the  Shepherd's  return  to  the  bosom  of  his 
friends  in  the  tent  at  the  Fairy's  Cleugh.* 

I  make  use  of  my  mother's  words  to  tell  of  the  plans  for  the  sum- 
mer of  1834: — "Our  own  plans  for  the  summer  are,  to  spend  four 
months  of  it  at  least,  that  is,  from  the  20th  June  till  the  20th  Octo- 
ber, in  Ettrick  Forest.  The  house  we  have  taken,  which  is  fur- 
nished, belongs  to  Lord  Napier,  who  is  at  present  in  China,  and  he 
wished  to  get  it  let  for  the  summer;  but,  from  the  retirement  of  the 
situation,  hardly  expected  to  meet  with  a  tenant  for  that  time.  It 
is  called  Thirlstane  Castle ;  the  country  around  is  all  interesting,  be- 
ing pastoral,  with  no  lack  of  wood  and  water,  and  a  great  lack  of 
neighbors  ;  we  all  like  retirement,  young  and  old,  and  look  forward, 
with  great  satisfaction,  to  spending  a  quiet  summer." 

We  accordingly  took  up  our  quarters  at  Thirlstane,  and  enjoyed 
Ettrick  Forest  vastly;  the  boys  had  their  fishing  and  shooting;  the 
very  dogs  were  happy.  "  The  dowgs,"  as  James  Hogg  called  them, 
shared  in  all  our  amusements  ;  it  was  here  that  Rover  had  his  ad- 
venture with  the  witch  transformed  into  a  hare.  "She  Avas  sitting 
in  her  ain  kail-yaird,  the  preceese  house  I  dinna  choose  to  mention, 
when  Girafle,  in  louping  ower  the  dyke,  louped  ower  her,  and  she 
gietl  a  spang  intil  the  road,  turning  round  her  fud  within  a  yard 
o'  Clavcrs,! — and  then  sic  a  brassle;  a'  tliree  thegither  up  the  brae, 
and  then  back  again  in  a  hairy  whirlwind ;  twa  miles  in  less  than  ae 
minute.  She  made  for  the  mouth  of  the  syver,J  but  Rover,  wha 
had  happened  to  be  examining  it  in  his  inquisitive  way,  and  kent 
naething  o'  the  course,  Avas  coming  out  just  as  she  Avas  gaun  in,  an' 
atweon  the  twa  there  ensued,  unseen  in  the  syver,  a  desperate  bat- 
tle. Well  dune  Avitch  ;  Avell  dune  Avarlock ;  and  at  ae  time  I  feared, 
frae  his  yelping  and  yoAvling,  that  Rover  Avas  getting  the  Avorst  o't, 

*  The  whole  (lialiigiie,  which  will  be  foiind  in  the  Koctes,  May,  1S34,  is  too  long  for  quotiition, 
I'Ut  a  few  lines  of  the  apolojry  may  be  given  : — 

"  I'll  never  breathe  a  whisper  even  to  my  ain  heart,  at  the  lanelicst  hour  o'  niiilniglit,  except  it 
be  when  I  am  sayinu'  my  prayers,  o'  ony  misundiTstandin';  that  ever  happened  between  us  twi\, 
either  about 'Mawga' or  ony  ither  topic,  as  lang's  I  leeve,  an' am  no  deserted  o"  my  .<eiisi.s.  but 
am  left  in  full  possession  of  the  gift  of  reason  ;  and  I  now  dielit  all'  the  Uiblets  o'  my  memory  illia 
letter  o"  ony  ugly  record  that  tlie  Enemy,  talciiig  the  advantau'e  o"  the  corruption  o'  our  fallen  n.v 
tnre,  contrived  to  scarify  there  wi'  the  pint  o'  an  airn  pen,  red-bet  frae  yon  wicked  place.  I  now 
dicht  them  a'  aft',  just  as  I  diclit  aff  frae  this  table  the  wine-drops  wr  ma  sleeve ;  and  I  forgive  ye 
frae  the  very  bottom  o'  ina  sowle,"  &c.,  itc. 

t  The  Shepherd's  coUeys.  X  A  co*red  drain. 


372  MEMOIR    OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

and  might  lose  his  life.  Aukl  poesies*  cuff  sair  wi'  their  fore-pa-\T  s, 
mill  theirs  is  a  wicked  bite.  I>ut  the  outl:ni<Jish  woltiness  in  Rover 
brak  forth  in  extremity,  and  he  cam  rushing  out  o'  the  syver  wi'  her 
in  his  mouth,  shaking  her  savagely,  as  if  she  had  been  but  a  rattoii, 
and  I  had  to  choke  him  off.  Forbye  thrappling  her,  he  had  bit  intil 
the  jugular;  and  she  had  lost  sae  meikle  bluid,  that  you  hae  eaten 
her  the  noo  roasted,  instead  o'  her  made  intil  sou})." 

Rover  was  a  colley  from  the  beautiful  pastures  of  Westmoreland; 
he  had  succeeded  Brontef  in  the  Professor's  affections.  He  had  all 
the  sagacity  of  his  species  ;  he  was  generally  admired,  but  strictly 
speaking  he  was  not  beautiful,  as  the  Shepherd  remarked  that  he 
had  "a  cross  o'  some  outlandish  blood"  in  his  veins;  he,  however, 
walked  with  a  stately,  defiant  air,  and  was  very  "leesh  ;"  his  coat 
was  black  and  glossy,  it  gleamed  in  the  light ;  a  white  ring  sur- 
rounded his  neck,  and  melted  away  into  the  depths  of  his  muscular 
chest ;  he  was  very  loving  and  affectionate,  and  as  we  children  toM 
him  every  thing  that  was  going  on,  these  communications  quickly 
opened  his  mind,  and  Rover  increased  so  much  the  more  in  intelli- 
gence. We  never  doubted  in  his  humanity,  and  treated  him  ac- 
cordingly ;  animation  of  spirit  and  activity  of  body  combhied  to 
give  him  a  more  than  usual  share  of  enjoyment.  Rover's  com- 
j)anion  in  dog-life  was  Fang  the  terrier.  Poor  Fang  was  one  of  the 
victims  in  Ilawthornden  garden  ;  but  at  Thirlstane  he,  hke  Rover, 
and  like  us  all,  old  and  young,  enjoyed  himself  vastly.  Poor  Rover 
fell  sick  in  the  spring  of  the  following  year,  and  struggled  for  many 
days  with  dumb  madness.  I  remember  that  shortly  before  the 
por)r  creature  died,  longing  for  the  sympathy  of  his  master's  kind 
voice,  he  crawled  up  stairs  to  a  room  next  the  drawing-room  ;  my 
father  stood  beside  liim,  trying  to  soothe  and  comfort  the  poor  ani- 
mal. A  \e\-y  few  minutes  before  death  closed  his  fast-glazing  eye, 
the  Professor  said :  "  Rover,  my  poor  fellow,  give  me  your  paw." 
The  dying  animal  made  an  effort  to  reach  his  master's  hand ;  and 
so  thus  parted  my  father  with  his  favorite,  as  one  man  taking  fare- 
well of  another.  My  father  loved  "  both  man,  and  bird,  and  beast;" 
he  could  turn  at  any  moment  from  the  hardest  work,  with  playful 
tenderness,  to  some  household  pet,  or  any  object  colored  by  home 
affection.J 

•  Harca.  f  \  favorite  dog  of  my  father's,  of  whom  more  anon. 

t  It  Is  Worth  observing  how  close  in  descrijttiou  two  stiulents  of  dog-lifo  have  approached  each 


LITERARY    AND    DOMKSTIC    LIFE.  37ii 

Wife,  children,  pets,  idealized  as  they  soiuetimes  are,  play  through 
many  of  his  most  beautiful  and  imaginative  essays.  Memory  le- 
vives  in  his  soul  matters  trivial  enough;  but  to  those  familiar  with 
his  ways,  these  little  touches,  embalming  the  fancy  or  taste  of  some 
cherished  friend,  are  deeply  interesting.  For  example,  my  mother's 
favorite  plant  was  the  myrtle  :  we  find  it  peeping  out  here  and 
there  in  his  writings,  thus — 

North. — "  These  are  mere  myrtles." 

Shepherd. — "Mere  myrtles!  Dinna  say  that  again  o'  them — mere;  an  ungratc- 
fu'  word,  of  a  flowery  plant,  a'  fu'  o'  bonny  white  starries;  and  is  that  their  scent 
that  I  smell?" 

N)7-th. — "  The  balm  is  from  many  breaths,  my  dear  James.  Nothing  that  grows 
is  without  fragrance." 

In  a  letter  written  by  my  mother  this  autumn  she  says : — "  We  like 
our  residence  exceedingly,  notwithstanding  its  great  retirement  and 
moist  climate  :  the  latter  we  were  ))rei)ared  foi-  before  we  came,  and 
have  certau)ly  not  been  disappointed,  for  we  have  had  rather  more 
of  rain  than  fail-  weather.  The  house  is  situated  in  a  narrow  valley 
in  Ettrick,  with  high  hills  on  every  side,  which  attract  the  clouds. 
We,  however,  contrive  to  amuse  ourselves  very  well,  with  books  and 
work,  music  and  drawing;  and  when  fair  and  fine,  the  boys  and  girls 
have  their  ponies,  and  the  old  people  a  safe  low  open  carriage, 
yclept  a  dro.sky,  in  which  they  take  the  air.  The  walks  are  quite 
to  my  taste,  and  without  number  in  the  wood  wiiich  surrounds  the 

other.  Every  one  remembers  the  celebrated  contest  in  Tiah  and  kin  FriemJs;  here  i.s  my  father's 
description  (if  a  <i(it'-tight  from  tlie  Xocten.  No  one  w;is  more  amused  at  the  resemblance  than 
the  jrcnial  author  of  Hub,  whin  the  writer  pointed  out  that  he  had  been  anticipated  bv  Xho 
"  Shepherd :" — 

"  Douii  another  close,  and  a  battle  o'  dowgs!  Abull-dowgand  a  mastiff!  Tbe  great  big  brown 
mastiff  mouthin"  the  buU-dowg  by  tlio  vorra  haunches,  as  if  to  crunch  his  bacl;.  and  the  wlj 
M'hitc  bull-dowg  never  seeming  to  fash  his  thoomb,  but  sticking  by  the  regul:u-  set  teeth  o'  his 
un<ler-hung.iaw  to  the  throat  o'  the  mastiff,  close  to  the  jugular,  and"  has  to  be  drawn  off  the  grip 
by  twa  strong  baker-boys  pu'in'at  the  tail  o'  the  tane,  and  twa  strong  butcher-hoys  p-rin'  at  the 
tail  o'  the  tither;  for  the  mastilTs  malster  begins  to  tear  that  the  viper  at  his  throat  will  kill  him 
outright,  and  offers  to  pay  a'  bets,  and  confess  his  dowg  has  lost  the  battle.     But  the  crowd  wisli 

to  see  the  ficht  out — and  harl  the  dowgs  that  are  uoo  worryiug  ither  without  any  growliut; bailli 

silent,  exeei>t  a  sort  o'  snoi-ling  Ihiough  tlie  nostrils,  and  a  kind  o"  guller  in  their  gullets.— I  say 
the  crowd  harl  them  out  o'  the  mi<lden.  ontil  the  staues. again— and,  '  Wecl  dune,  Caesar  1'  -Beltcr 
dune,  Vesiier!'  'A  mutchkin  to  a  gill  on  WhiteyP  -The  muckleane  cannafeeht!'  'See  how  iLe 
wcu  bick  is  worryiug  him  noo.  by  a  new  spat  on  the  thrapple  !'  '  He  wud  riu  awa".  gin  she  wiul 
iei  him  loose!'  '  She's  just  like  her  nu)ther,  that  belauged  to  the  caravan  o"  wild  beasts!'  'Q, 
man,  Davie,  but  I  wud  like  to  iret  a  breed  out  o'  her  by  the  watch-dowg  at  Bellmaiileii  Bleach- 
riild,  that  killed,  ye  keii,  the  Kilmanuick  carri.i's  Help  in  twenty  minutes  at  KiuijSH  elU' "— 
Koften. 


374  MEMOIR    OF    JOWS    WILSON. 

house,  and  there  is  one  delightful  walk,  the  avenue,  which  is  the 
approach,  and  whicli,  from  one  lodge  to  the  other,  is  rather  more 
than  a  mile  of  nice  dry  gravel,  and  quite  level,  or  nearly  so,  which 
suits  me  vastly  well ;  there  is  a  beautiful  flower-garden  close  to  the 
house  and  a  very  pretty  brawling  stream,  which  reminds  one  of 
Stockgill  at  Ambleside ;  there  is  a  very  good  waterfall  likewise  in 
the  grounds,  about  a  mile  from  the  house,  Avhich  I  have  not  yet 
seen,  the  path  being  very  steep,  and,  owing  to  the  rains,  very  wet ; 
it  is  called  the  Black  Spout.  The  boys  have  abundance  of  amuse- 
ment in  tishing  and  shooting,  there  being  plenty  of  game — bares 
and  rabbits.      John  has  the  Duke  of   Buccleuch's  permission  to 

shoot,  and  therefore  we  expect  to  have  plenty  of  grouse 

.  .  .  Our  neighbors,  Avho  are  few  and  far  between,  consist  of  re- 
spectable farmers,  who  have  showed  us  great  attention,  indeed,  Mr. 
"Wilson  was  known  to  all  the  neighborhood  long  ago,  in  his  pedes- 
trian perambulations.  The  church  is  about  a  mile  and  a  half  from 
us,  a  neat  little  building,  with  a  comfortable  manse  attached.  Mr. 
Smith,  the  minister,  is  a  very  favorable  specimen  of  a  Scotch  cler 
gyman,  with  a  modest,  hospitable  wife,  and  two  children, 

"Mr.  "Wilson  was  obliged  to  go  to  Edinburgh  last  Saturday,  but 
I  hope  he  will  be  here  again  on  Wednesday.  He  is  staying  at  the 
Bank.  Poor  Mr.  Blackwood  is  very  ill ;  indeed,  I  fear  dangerously 
so.  It  is  a  sur<jii'al  case,  and  though  his  general  health  has  not  as 
yet  suiFered,  should  that  give  way  there  is  no  chance  for  him.  He 
would  be  an  irreparable  loss  to  his  family,  and  a  serious  one  to 
Edinburgh,  being  an  excellent  citizen,  a  magistrate,  and  highly 
respected  even  by  his  enemies." 

My  father's  spirits  were  at  this  time  very  much  disturbed  at  the 
prospect  of  soon  losing  his  kind  and  long-tried  friend,  the  gradual 
increase  of  whose  illness  he  writes  of  with  much  feeling  to  his 
wife : — 

"  Gloucester  Place,  Thursday  X(ght. 

"My  dear  Jane: — I  found  Mr.  Blackwood  ai)parently  near  his 
dissolution,  but  entirely  sensible,  and  well  aware  of  his  state,  which 
indeed  he  had  been  for  a  long  time,  though,  till  lately,  he  had  never 
said  so,  not  wishing  to  disturb  his  foniily.  He  was  very  cheerful, 
and  we  sjioke  cliecrfuUy  of  various  matters  ;  this  was  on  ^Monday, 
on  my  arrival  from  Pei'lilos  in  a  chaise,  the  coach  being  full.  Tuesday 
was  a  day  of  rain,  and  being  very  ill,  I  lay  all  the  day  in  bed.     I  did 


LITEliAKl'    AM)    DOMKSTIC    LIFE.  375' 

not,  thortfoii^.,  see  any  of  the  Blackwoods,  nor  anybody  else,  but. 
heard  that  he  was  keeping;  much  the  same.  On  Wednesday  I  saw 
Alexander  and  Robert,  and  found  there  was  no  change.  This  morn- 
ing (Thursday)  I  called,  and  found  him  looking  on  the  whole  bette"* 
than  before,  strc  nger  in  his  speech  and  general  appearance.  I  had 
much  conversati' >n  with  him,  and  found  him  quite  prepared  to  die, 
pleased  with  the  kindness  of  all  around  him,  and  grateful  for  all 
mercies.  It  is  ii/j possible,  I  think,  that  he  can  live  many  days,  and 
yet  the  medical  men  all  declared  on  Sunday  that  he  could  not  hold 
out  many  hours.  A  good  conscience  is  the  best  comforter  on  such 
a  bed  as  his,  and  were  his  bed  mine  to-morrow,  bless  God  I  have  a 
conscience  that  would  support  me  as  it  supports  him,  and  which 
will  support  me  till  then,  while  I  strive  to  do  my  duty  to  my  f  imily, 
with  weakened  powers  both  of  mind  and  body,  but  under  circum- 
stances which  more  than  ever  demand  exertion.  I  have  been  too 
ill  to  write  one  word  since  I  came,  and  have  seen  nobody,  nor  shall 
I  till  I  return  to  Thirlstane.  Not  one  word  of  the  Magazine  is  writ- 
ten. Last  night  I  made  an  eflbrt  and  walked  to  the  Bank  through 
a  tremendous  storm. 

"  I  was  in  bed  to-day  till  after  bank  hours,  and  could  not  disturb 
the  Blackwoods,  of  whom  I  have  not  heard  since  the  morning.  I 
have  consulted  Listen.  Sedentary  employments  are  bad  for  that 
complaint,  but  sedentary  I  must  be,  and  will  work  till  I  can  work 
no  longer.  It  is  necessary  that  I  should  do,  and  better  men  have 
done  so,  and  will  do  so  while  the  world  lasts.  Thank  God,  I  in- 
jure nobody  in  thought,  Avord,  or  deed.  I  am  willing  to  die  for 
my  family,  Avho,  one  and  all,  yourself  included,  deserve  all  that  is 
good  at  my  hands.  I  believe  that  poor  Mr.  Blackwood's  exertions 
have  caused  his  illness,  and  after  his  death  my  work  must  be  inces- 
sant, till  the  night  comes  in  which  no  man  can  work.  I  have  been 
interrupted  all  summer,  but  Avinter  must  see  another  sigh),  and  I 
will  do  my  utmost.  I  will  write  again  by  Ebenezer  Hogg,  and 
shall  not,  indeed  cannot,  leave  this  before  Mr.  Blackwood's  death. 
He  cannot  survive  many  days,  but  I  do  not  think  the  boys  and  Mr. 
Hay  need  come  in.  I  will  speak  of  that  again  in  my  letter.  I  am 
yours  affectionately,  John  Wilsv).v." 

"Baxk.  Tliursday  S'vjht. 
"My  DEAii  Jaxk: — I  arrived  at  the  Bank  at  half-past  twelve  on 


376  MEMOIR   OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

Monday  with  a  violent  toothache ;  dined  there  alone ;  sa'v  the 
Blackwoods,  and  went  to  bed  at  nine.  On  Tuesday  called  on  Mr. 
Blackwood,  and  found  him  tolerably  well.  Lost  all  ih  t  day  in  be- 
ing unable  to  settle  to  any  thing  ;  finding  the  bank-house  most  un- 
comfortable in  all  respects — no  pillows  to  the  beds,  no  sofas,  no 
tables  on  which  it  was  possible  to  write,  from  their  being  so  low 
and  the  chairs  so  high.  I  did  nothing.  On  Wednesday  did  a  little, 
but  not  much ;  and  dined,  perhaps  injudiciously,  with  Liston,*  to 
meet  Schetky  ;f  stayed  till  one  o'clock ;  and  to-day  had  an  open 
and  confused  head ;  A^TOte  in  the  back  shop,  but  not  very  much.  I 
sent  for  Xancy  to  the  Bank,  and  found  from  her  that  she  Avas  pick- 
ing currants  in  Gloucester  Place,  and  told  her  that  I  would  be  there 
to-morrow  (Friday)  at  nine  o'clock,  and  write  in  my  room,  which, 
she  says,  is  open,  and  sleep  at  the  Bank.  I  dine  at  Mr.  Blackwood's. 
Mr.  Hay  called  on  me  at  the  shop  to-day,  and  is  well,  having  been 
ill  with  cholera  or  colic.  The  ^Magazine  is  in  a  sad  state,  and  en- 
tirely behind,  and  as  yet  I  have  done  little  to  forward  it.  I  am  not 
quite  incog.,  I  fear,  but  have  avoided  seeing  any  of  my  old  friends 
of  the  Parliament  House.  I  will  write  by  Sunday's  mail,  so  you 
Avill  hear  from  me  on  Tuesday,  telling  you  when  to  send  the  gig  to 
Innerleithen.  I  think  it  will  be  on  \Yednesday  night,  therefore  keep 
it  disengaged  for  that  day;  but  I  will  mention  particulars  m  my 
next.  My  face  is  swelled,  but  not  so  bad  as  before  nearly.  The 
Whigs  are  all  in  again,  or  rather  were  never  out,  except  Lord 
Grey,  who  remains  out.  Poor  Blackwood  looks  as  well  as  ever,  and 
there  seem  to  be  hopes,  but  the  disease  is  very,  very  bad,  and  I 
do  not  know  what  to  say.     Love  to  all.     Yours  ever  aflfectionately 

"  John  Wilson." 

*  "  Saturday  Evening. 

**  "My  dear  Maggie  : — Mr.  Blackwood  is  in  the  same  state,  wear- 

•  Robert  Liston,  the  celebrated  snrjeon  ;  died  in  1S47. 

t  Jolin  Schetky,  An  artist,  a  friend  of  my  father's. — "  I  have  no  conceit  of  those  'wh.i  arc  all 
thinss  to  all  men.'  Why,  I  h.ive  seen  John  Schetky  himself  in  the  sulks  with  sumpbs,  though  he 
Is  more  tolerant  of  ninnies  and  noodles  than  almost  any  other  man  of  genius  I  have  over  known; 
but  cl.ip  him  <lo\vn  among  a  choice  crew  of  kindred  spirits,  and  how  his  wild  wit  (•"■>n  veL  as  in 
its  prime,  wantons!  playing  at  will  its  virgin  fancies,  till  Care  herself  comes  from  he>'  cell,  and 
sitlini:  by  the  side  of  Joy,  loses  her  nanae.  and  forgets  her  nature,  and  joins  in  glee  or  catch,  bc- 
lieulh  the  power  of  that  maL'ician,  the  merriest  in  the  hall." — Xocten.  No.  l.vvi.,  1834. 

"  A  gentleman  who  .served  with  our  army  in  the  Spanish  camprdgns,  and  has  paiiit'd  seveiul 
wild  scenes  of  the  Pyrenees  in  a  most  original  manner.  He  is,  I  imagine,  the  very  (ln-«t  painter 
of  sky  since  Salvalor  Vioix'^—LttUra  on  tlie  Lifing  Artmls  of  SioU-ina. 


LITERARY    AND   DOMESTIC    LIFE.  377 

iiig  away  gradually,  but  living  longer  than  any  of  the  med'cal  pco 
pie  thought  possible.  Last  Sunday,  it  was  thought  he  coald  not 
live  many  hours. 

"I  enclose  £10  for  present  use,  and  shall  write  to  your  mamma 
on  Monday,  so  that  you  will  hear  from  me  on  Wednesday. 

"  This  goes  by  f^benezer  Hogg,  and  two  other  letters ;  and 
Nancy,  I  understand,  is  sending  clothes  to  Bonjeddard,  from  which 
I  gather  you  are  going  to  the  ball,  which  is  right.  Love  to  all. 
Use  the  gig  as  you  choose,  for  I  shall  not  want  it  for  some  time. 
Thine  alFectionately,  John  Wilson." 

"  Gloucester  Place,  Monday  Evening. 

"  My  dear  Jane  : — I  shall  be  in  Innerleithen  on  Thursday  per 
coach,  so  let  the  gig  be  there  the  night  before.  I  have  been  writ- 
ing here  since  Friday,  with  but  indifferent  success,  and  am  at  thig 
hour  worn  out.  Nancy  has  done  what  I  asked  her  to  do,  and  I 
have  let  the  bell  ring  10,000  times  without  minding  it. 

"  Billy  called,  with  Captain  Craigie,  on  Sunday,  and,  after  view- 
ing them  from  the  bedroom  window,  I  let  them  in.  I  have  seen 
nobody  else,  not  even  Sym,  but  intend  to  call  to  morrow  night.  I 
have  slept  here,  and  in  utter  desolation,  as  at  Blackwood's  it  was 
too  mournful  to  go  there. 

*'  What  is  to  become  of  next  Magazine  I  do  not  know.  If  I  come 
here  again,  I  will  bring  Maggie  with  me.  Five  hours  of  writing 
give  me  a  headache,  and  worse,  and  I  become  useless.  I  do  not 
think  Blackwood  will  recover,  but  Liston  speaks  still  as  if  he  had 
hopes.  Nobody  writes  for  the  Magaznie,  and  the  lads  are  in  very 
low  spirits,  but  show  much  that  is  amiable.  I  believe  Hogg  and 
his  wife  and  I  will  be  in  the  coach  on  Thursday  morning  to  Inner- 
leithen ;  so  Bob  told  me.  The  printers  are  waiting  for  ^IS.,  and  I 
have  none  but  a  few  pages  to  give  them;  but  on  Weilnesday  night 
all  must  be  at  press.  I  hope  to  find  you  all  well  and  hai)py.  Yours 
ever  affectionately,  Joux  Wilson." 

Mr.  Blackwood  died  on  the  16th  of  September,  1834.  "Four 
months  of  suffering,  in  part  intense,  exhausted  by  slow  degrees  :dl 
his  physical  energies,  but  left  his  temper  calm  and  unrufHed,  and 
his  intellect  entire  and  vigorous  even  to  the  last.  He  had  thus  what 
no  good  man  will  consider  as  a  slight  i)rivilege,  that  of  contem- 
16 


3TS  MKMOIR   OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

piating  the  ai>proach  of  death  with  the  clearness  and  full  strength  of 
his  niiiiil  and  faculties,  and  of  instructing  those  around  him,  by 
s;okMnn  precept  and  memorable  example,  by  what  means  alone 
humanity,  conscious  of  its  own  frailty,  can  sustain  that  prospect 
with  humble  serenit.y."*  This  event  made  no  change  in  my  father's 
relations  with  the  Magazine,  but  two  years  later  a  trial  came  that 
deadened  his  interest,  and  the  willingness  of  his  hand  to  work. 

"  What  is  to  become  of  next  Magazine  ?"  was  the  question  on 
Monday  evening,  while  the  printers  were  waiting  for  MS.,  and  he 
had  but  a  few  pages  to  give  them.  How  he  worked  that  night  and 
next  two  days  may  be  seen  by  examining  the  number  of  the  Maga- 
zine for  October,  of  which  he  wrote  with  his  own  hand  5G  out  of  the 
142  pages  required.  His  articles  were  :  "  A  Glance  at  the  Xoctes 
of  Athena}us  ;"  and  a  "Review  of  Coleridge's  Poetical  Works." 

For  the  remainder  of  this  year,  and  for  the  two  subsequent  years, 
he  gave  the  most  imequivocal  proofs  of  his  regard  for  his  friend's 
memory,  and  his  interest  in  his  family,  by  continuing  his  labors 
with  unflagging  industry.  In  glancing  over  his  contributions  for 
1835,  I  perceive  that  in  January  he  had  three;  in  February  five  ; 
in  March  two  ;  in  May  two  ;  in  July  five  ;  in  August  four  ;  in  Sej^ 
tember  three  ;  and  in  October  and  Xovember  one  in  each  month, 
making  a  total  of  twenty-six  articles  during  the  twelve  months.  Of 
all  these  criticisms  I  have  only  space  to  allude  to  the  very  brilliant 
series  of  papers  on  Spenser,  regarding  which  Mr.  Hallam  remarks, 
that  "  It  has  been  justly  observed  by  a  living  writer  of  the  most 
ardent  and  enthusiastic  genius,  whose  eloquence  is  as  the  rush  of 
mighty  waters,  and  has  left  it  for  others  almost  as  invidious  to 
praise  in  terms  of  less  rapture,  as  to  censure  what  he  has  bonm 
along  in  the  stream  of  unhesitating  eulogy,  that  '  no  poet  has  ever 
had  a  more  exquisite  sense  of  the  beautiful  than  Spenser.'  "f 

In  183G  and  1837,  he  continued  to  contribute  an  article  at  least 
once  a  month  until  his  own  great  loss  paralyzed  him. 

The  following  letters  were  wiitten  in  the  autumn  of  1835  from 
the  banks  of  the  Clyde  : — 

"  The  Baths,  HELEXSBrRGU, 
1835,  Tuesday.  12  o'clock. 
"  My  dear  Jaxe  : — I  dined  with  Miss  Sym  on  Sunday,  and  was 
kindly  received  by  her  and  Mr.  Andrew. 

JUacl-icood,  October,  1B3T.  ♦  LiUrature  of  Europe,  vol  iL,  p.  136. 


LITKKAKY    AND    DoMK.STIC    LIFE.  379 

"Dinner  was  over  (half-past  four),  but  the  Ilowtowdy  and 
pigeon-pie  brought  back,  and  having  cast  the  coat  to  it,  much  to 
the  old  lady's  amusement,  I  made  a  feast.  I  left  Ghrsgow  at  hidf- 
past  six  on  Thursday  morning,  and  reached  Helensburgh  about 
nine.  I  forgot  to  say  that  Blair  was  at  the  Mearns,  so  I  did  not 
see  him.  Monday  (that  is  yesterday)  was  a  broiling  day  without 
wind  ;  not  a  breath  till  about  twelve,  when  some  yachts  started  for 
a  cup  ;  the  heat  was  intense,  though  there  was  a  canopy  over  the 
Orion,  in  which  the  party  was  gathered.  We  had  every  thing  good 
in  the  upper  and  lower  jaw-most  line  ;  and  the  champagne — a  wine 
I  like — flew  like  winking.  This  continued  till  six  o'clock,  and  I  had 
a  mortal  headache.  Race  won  by  the  '  Clarence'  (her  seventh  cup 
this  summer),  the  'Amethyst'  (Smith's  yacht)  being  beaten.  At 
seven  we  sat  down  forty-five  to  dinner  in  the  Baths,  so  the  hotel  is 
called,  and  we  had  a  pleasant  party  enough,  as  far  as  tlie  heat 
would  suffer." 

"Largs,  Sunday,  August  2,  1835. 
"  My  dear  Magg  ! — I  duly  received  the  governess's  letter,  and 
write  now  to  say  that  two  gentlemen  are  to  dine  with  us  in 
Gloucester  Place  on  Wednesday  first,  viz.,  Wednesday,  August 
5th,  at  six  o'clock.  Get  us  a  good  dinner.  It  was  my  intention  to 
write  a  long  letter  about  us,  but  how  can  I  ?  We  have  all  been  at 
church,  and  the  room  is  filled  with  people,  and  the  post  goes  in  an 
hour.  Blair  and  Frank  Wilson  and  Willy  Sym  came  down  per 
steamer  last  night,  and  return  to  Glasgow  to-morrow  morning,  but 
Blair  has  no  intention,  as  far  as  I  know,  of  returning  to  Edinburgh. 
I  have  just  seen  him,  and  no  more.  The  Regatta  is  over,  and 
Umbs  was  at  the  ball  here;  200  people  present.  To-day  is  a  storm. 
To-morrow  I  hope  to  get  to  Glasgow,  and  be  home  to  dinner  on 
Tuesday  per  mail — sooner  not  possible — so  do  try  all  of  von  to  be 
contented  till  then  without  me.  All  are  well.  Your  aftectionate 
father,  John  Wilsox, 

"  Who  sends  love  to  the  lave,  chickens  and  dogs  included." 

In  August,  1836,  the  Professor,  witli  his  wife  and  two  eldest 
daughters,  visited  Paisley,  where  a  public  dinner  was  given  to 
him,  to  which  he  was  accompanied  by  his  friend  Thomas  Campbell. 
The  meeting  was  numerously  attended,  and  went  off  with  eclat. 


380  MEMOIR    OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

The  following  note  to  Mr.  Findlay  accompanied   a  report  of  the 
speeches  on  this  occasion  : — 

"6  Gloccester  Place,  September  1. 
"My  deab  Fkiend: — The  penis  idle;  not  cold  the  heart!  I  for- 
get not  ever  the  friends  of  my  heart.  This  report  is  a  very  imperfect 
one,  but  I  thought  you  might  not  dislike  to  see  it.  I  tcill  write 
very  soon,  and  at  length.  We  are  all  well,  and  unite  in  kindest  re- 
gards and  remembrances.     Ever  yours  most  affectionately, 

"  John  Wilson." 

As  an  illustration  of  his  humorous  post-prandial  speeches,  I  give 
an  extract  from  the  report : — '•  Mr.  Campbell  had  been  pleased  to 
give  them  an  animated  character  of  his  physical  power ;  all  he  would 
say  was  that  nature  had  blessed  him  with  a  sound  mind  in  a  sound 
body,  and  he  had  felt  her  kindness  in  this,  that  it  had  enabled  him 
in  his  travels  and  wanderings  to  move  with  independence  and  free- 
dom from  all  the  restraints  that  weakness  of  body  might  imply.  He 
remembered  seeing  it  mentioned  in  the  public  prints  some  years  ago 
that  he  resembled  the  wild  m:m  of  the  wood,  but  little  did  he  dream 
that  at  last  he  was  to  grow  into  a  resemblance  of  their  immortal 
Wallace."  After  some  further  observations,  in  which  the  learned 
Professor  spoke  warmly  and  eloquently  of  the  genius  of  Mr.  Cam]> 
bell,  he  referred  to  the  remarks  of  that  gentleman  about  the  circles 
of  reputation  that  surrounded  him,  and  his  reception  at  the  dinner 
of  the  Campbell  Club.  Perhaps,  he  observed,  it  was  not  so  great 
an  achievement  for  Mr.  Campbell  to  come  400  miles  to  receive  the 
honors  awaiting  him,  as  it  was  for  him  (Mr.  W.)  to  go  forty  miles 
to  see  those  honors  bestowed  upon  him;  while  the  little  discharge 
of  applause  with  which  his  appearance  Avas  welcomed,  was  to  be 
regarded  only  as  a  humble  tribute  due  to  Mr.  Cjvmpbell's  superior 
artillery.  He  gave  Mr.  Campbell  willingly  the  possession  of  all  the 
outer  circles.  He  gave  him  London — undisputed  possession  of  L5Tj- 
don — also  of  Edinburgh  ;  he  did  not  ask  for  Glasgow  ;  but  here  in 
Paisley  (tremendous  cheering  which  drowned  the  rest  of  the  sen- 
tence), they  wuuld  agree  with  the  justice  of  the  sentiment,  when  he 
said  that  had  he  been  born  in  the  poorest  village  in  the  land,  he 
would  not  have  cause  to  be  ashamed  of  his  birthplace  ;  nor,  he  trusted, 
would  his  birthplace  have  cause  to  be  ashamed  of  him  (cheers).  But 
wlien  he  considered  where  he  was  born — the  town  of  Paisley — where 


LITEKAKY    AND    DoMhSllO    LIFp:.  3S1 

he  had  that  morning  walked  along  the  front  of  his  father's  house — 
itself  no  insignificant  mansion — a  town  of  the  very  best  size — not 
like  the  great  unwieldy  Glasgow,  or  Edinburgh,  where  (while  fears 
were  entertained  of  the  failure  of  the  crops  in  the  country)  a  crop 
was  going  on  in  the  streets  of  the  oily  (cheers  and  laughter),  but 
turned  he  to  his  native  town,  "Ah,  seest'u  !  seest'u!"*  (tremendous 
cheering  and  laughter).  PoUtics  were  very  properly  excluded  from 
tliat  meeting,  etc.,  etc. 

After  the  festivities  at  Paisley  were  over,  they  took  a  short  excui- 
sion  to  Loch  Lomond,  Glen  Falloch,  Killin,  Loch  Earn,  Crieff,  Com- 
rie,  Perth,  and  homewards ;  nor  was  it  then  imagined  that  one  of 
that  hap|)y  i)arty  was  so  soon  to  be  removed  from  the  honored  and 
loved  place  she  held  in  her  family. 

On  New  Year's  day,  1837,  my  mother  wrote  her  last  letter  to  her 
dearly  loved  sister ;  and  the  correspondence,  which  had  continued 
without  interruption  for  twenty-five  years,  was  now  to  cease : — 

"My  dear  Mauy: — "With  the  exception  of  Mr.  Wilson,  we  arc 
nearly  as  well  as  usual.  I  cannot  get  Mr.  W.  to  take  proper  car© 
of  himself;  he  would  put  you  out  of  all  patience,  as  he  really  does 
me,  and  neither  scolding  nor  persuasion  avail,  and  I  am  obliged  to 
submit,  and  so  must  he ;  he  consents  to  stay  in  the  house,  which  is 
one  comfort,  and  therefore  I  trust  his  cough  will  soon  disappear. 

"Frank  says  the  preparations  in  Glasgow  for  the  reception  of  Sir 
R.  Peel  will  be  splendid.  Mr.  Wilson  and  John  will  be  both  there. 
I  believe  there  will  be  at  least  2,000  at  the  dinner,  and  the  demand 
for  tickets  is  unprecedented.  I  will  take  care  to  send  you  a  news- 
paper, with  the  best  account  of  the  meeting  that  can  be  had.  There 
is  some  anticipation,  I  hear,  that  the  Radicals  will  try  to  make  some 
disturbance,  but  there  is  no  fear  but  then*  attempts  will  be  soon  put 
a  stop  to. 

"  I  am  just  now  reading  a  delightful  book ;  if  you  have  not  already 
seen  it,  pray  try  and  get  it ;  it  is  Prior's  '  Life  of  Golclsinith."  Do 
you  remember  how  you  used  to  like  Goldsmith  ?  and  I  never  read 
a  line  of  this  book  without  thinking  of  you,  and  wishing  we  were 
reading  it  together.  You  will  love  him  better  than  ever  after  re;id- 
ing  these  Memoirs. 

"A  thousand  thanks  for  your  welcome  letter,  and  for  all  the  good 

•  This  Ig  a  Paisley  expression  peculiar  to  th<  people,  and  uienns  "  Seest  lliou,  seest  thou?" 


382  MKMOIE    or    JOHN    WILSON. 

:iiul  kind  wishes  therein  contaiued.  In  retiini,  pray  accept  all  our 
united  and  most  cordial  wishes,  whieli  are  offered  in  all  sincerity  and 
aiieetion  to  yourself  and  all  our  well-beloved  friends  at  Penny  Bridge, 
tliat  you  may  enjoy  many,  many  happy  retui'us  of  this  blessed  season. 
Your  affectionate  sister,  J.  Wilson." 

My  mother's  illness  was  not  at  first  of  a  nature  to  alarm  the  family ; 
but  my  father  was  always  nervous  about  her,  Avhen  any  thing  more 
than  usual  disturbed  her  health ;  she  had  been  for  some  years  deli- 
cate, and  took  less  exercise  than  was  perhaps  for  her  good.  We 
thought  that  the  little  tour,  made  in  the  autumn  of  1836,  had  been 
very  beneficial,  and  hoped  that  this  would  in  future  tempt  her  to 
move  more  frequently  from  home.  About  the  middle  of  March,  lit- 
tle more  than  two  months  after  sending  an  affectionate  greeting  at 
the  beginning  of  anew  year  to  the  beloved  friends  at  Penny  Bridge, 
she  was  taken  ill  with  a  feverish  cold,  which,  after  a  few  days,  turned 
to  a  malady  beyond  the  aid  of  human  skill.  Water  on  the  chest  was 
the  ultimate  cause  of  her  death,  which  sad  event  took  place  on  the 
29th  of  March,  and  was  communicated  to  her  sister  Mary  in  the  fol- 
lowing touching  letter  by  a  relative,  who  could  well  understand  the 
irreparable  loss  that  had  befallen  husbaud  and  children  by  the  pass 
ing  away  of  this  gentle  spirit : — 

"  My  letter,  written  last  night,  will  have  prepared  you  to  heai' 
thot  our  worst  fears  have  been  confirmed  ;  our  dearest  Jane  expired 
last  night  at  half-past  twelve  o'clock.  Immediately  after  writing  to 
you,  I  went,  along  with  my  husband,  to  Glo'ster  Place,  trusting 
that  she  might  once  more  know  me.  She  had  been  sleeping  heavily 
for  two  or  three  hours,  but  when  I  went  into  her  room,  sh«  was 
breathing  softer  though  shorter,  and  a  kind  of  hope  seized  ujion 
me.  The  ))hysician  had  ordered  a  cordial  to  be  given  her  every 
hour;  for  this  purpT)se  it  was  necessary  to  rouse  her  from  licr 
sleep,  and  it  was  at  this  time  a  trial  was  to  be  made  whether  she 
would  know  me ;  how  anxiously  I  hoped  to  exchange  one  kind 
look  with  her,  to  kiss  her  again,  but  it  was  not  God's  will  it  shoiiM 
1k'  so.  Her  husband  was  just  going  to  raise  her  head,  that  he  mi'^lil 
enable  her  to  taste  the  draught,  when  she  breathed  three  siglis,  with 
sliort  intervals,  and  all  was  over  before  we  who  were  around  her 
bed  could  believe  it  possible  that  her  spirit  had  fled.  We  Avere 
stuimed  with  the  ini,  xpeeted  stroke,  for  none  of  us  had  anticipated 


LITERARY    AND    DOMESTIC    LITE.  3S3 

any  change  last  night.  The  Professor  was  seized  with  a  sort  of 
lialf  delirium,  and  you  can  scarcely  picture  a  more  disires>iiig  scene 
than  him  lying  on  the  floor,  his  son  John  wee|iing  over  him,  and 
the  poor  girls  in  e<]ual  distress.  His  first  words  were  those  of 
prayer;  after  that  he  spoke  incessantly  the  whole  night,  and  seemed 
to  recapitulate  the  events  of  many  years  in  a  few  hours.  They 
were  all  calmer  this  morning.  Maggy  tells  me  that  she  scarcely 
ever  spoke  except  Avhen  addressed  ;  that  she  did  not  think  herself 
in  danger,  and  had  even  yesterday  morning  spoken  of  getting  bet- 
ter. But  she  did  not  know  any  of  them,  at  all  times,  for  the  last 
day  or  two,  and  I  believe  none  of  them  yesterday.  The  funeral,  I 
believe,  will  take  place  on  Saturday.  God  bless  you  both  ; — with 
kindest  love  to  all." 

So  passed  away  from  this  earth  the  spirit  of  his  idolized  wife, 
leaving  the  world  thenceforth  for  him  dark  and  dreary.  This  be- 
reavement overwhelmed  him  with  grief,  almost  depriving  him  of 
reason,  nor,  when  the  excess  of  sorrow  passed  away,  did  mourning 
ever  entirely  leave  his  heart.  When  he  resumed  his  duties  next 
session,  he  met  his  class  with  a  depressed  and  solemn  spirit,  unable 
at  first  to  give  utterance  to  words,  for  he  saw  that  he  had  with  him 
the  symi)athy  and  tender  respect  of  his  students.  After  a  short 
pause,  his  voice  tremulous  with  emotion,  he  said,  "Gentlemen, 
pardon  me,  l)ut  since  we  last  met,  I  have  been  in  the  valley  of  the 
shadow  of  death." 


CHAPTER   XV. 

LITERARY     AND     DOMESTIC     LIFE. 
1837-44. 

"  Pictures  and  visions  which  fjincy  had  drawn  and  happy  love 
had  inspired,  came  now  in  fierce  torrent  of  recollection  over  the 
prostrate  and  afflicted  soul.  Though  sorrow  had  no  jiart  in  tlicin 
before,  it  possesses  tiiem  now.  Thus,  one  idea,  and  the  pain  which 
is  now  inseparable  from  it,  reign  over  all  changes  of  thought — 
though  these  thoughts  in  themselves  have  l)cen  fixed  in  their  con- 


384  MEMOIR   OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

nection  with  one  ;r. other,  and  image  linked  to  image  long  before  ; 
they  rise  up  by  those  connoetions,  but  they  are  determined  to  aiise 
and  depart  by  that  one  fixed  concejition  which  hokls  its  unshaken 
seat  in  the  sorrow  of  the  souk"*  It  is  quite  evident  from  those 
words,  written  a  year  after  that  great  domestic  affliction  had  l)efal- 
len  him,  that  my  lather  liad  not  slmt  out  from  liis  lieart  the  imago 
of  liis  wife.  How  lie  thought  and  felt  at  the  moment  when  the 
shadow  of  death  darkened  his  life,  may  be  gathered  from  the  fol- 
lowing touching  lines  copied  from  the  pubHc  journals  of  the  day: — 

"Last  week  a  ))aragraph  appeared  describing  the  painful  situation 
to  which  Professor  Wilson  had  been  reduced  from  deep  mental 
affliction.  The  following  extract  from  a  letter  to  a  fiieml,  written 
by  himself,  is  the  best  evidence  of  the  error  into  which  our  contem- 
porary had  fallen  : — 

'"It  pleased  God  on  the  29th  of  ^[arch  to  visit  me  with  the  se- 
verest calamity  that  can  befall  one  of  his  creatures,  in  the  death  of 
my  wife,  with  whom  I  had  lived  in  love  for  twenty-six  years,  and 
from  that  event  till  about  a  fortnight  ago,  I  lived  with  my  family, 
two  sons  and  three  daughters,  dutiful  and  affectionate,  in  a  secluded 
house  near  Roslin.  I  am  now  in  Edinburgh,  and  eaily  in  Novem- 
ber hope  to  resume  my  daily  duties  in  the  University.  I  have 
many  blessings  for  which  I  am  humbly  thankful  to  the  Almighty, 
and  though  I  have  not  borne  my  affliction  so  well,  or  better  than  I 
have  done,  yet  I  have  borne  it  with  submission  and  resignation,  and 
feel  that  though  this  world  is  darkened,  I  may  be  able  yet  to  exert 
such  faculties,  humble  as  they  are,  as  God  has  given  me,  if  not  to 
the  benefit,  not  to  the  detriment  of  my  fellow-mortals.' " 

That  letter  leads  one  irresistibly  back  to  one  written  in  May, 
1811,  when  he  stood  on  the  threshold  of  a  new  life  full  of  antiei 
pated  hapjiiness.  "Where  was  that  solemn,  calm  spirit,  now  thai 
(she — the  best  and  gentlest  of  wives — was  gone?  Did  he  say, 
"Comfort's  in  heaven,  and  we  on  earth?"  True  it  was,  he  suffered 
as  such  a  soul  must  suffer  at  such  a  loss,  and  it  was  for  a  long  time 
a  terrible  storm  of  trouble.  But  he  gave  evidence  in  due  time  that 
lie  was  not  forever  to  be  overcome  with  sadness. 

It  is  necessary,  in  order  to  relate  some  of  the  events  of  this  smn 
mer,  that  we  should  follow  him  to  the  secluded  house  ne.ir  Hoslin, 
where  he  went   immediately  after  my  mother's  death,  o  jubtlesa 

*  "  Our  Two  Vases,"  Blacktcood ,  April,  1S38. 


^ 


LITKKAKY    AND    DOMESTIC    LIFE.  385 

hoping  to  find,  as  he  had  done  of  old,  some  comfort  in  communion 
with  outward  nature.  It  was  Spring,  too,  his  very  love  for  which 
carried  with  it  a  vague  presage  of  evil. 

"Yea!  mournful  thouphts  like  the^e  eren  now  ariso, 
While  Spring,  like  Nature's  smiling  infancy, 
Sports  round  me,  and  all  images  of  peace 
Seem  native  to  this  earth,  nor  other  home 
Desire  or  know ;  j-et  doth  a  mystic  chain 
Link  in  our  hearts  foreboding  fears  of  death, 
With  every  loveliest  thing  that  seems  to  UB 
Most  deeply  fraught  with  life." 

Thus  did  he  meet  the  fair  season  so  loved  of  old,  sighing — 

"  0  the  heavy  change,  now  thou  art  gone  ; 
Now  thou  art  gone,  and  never  must  return!" 

I  may  observe  here,  without  any  unfilial  disrespect,  that  his  deep  sor 
row  was  not  without  its  good  influence  on  the  sufferer.  Those  who 
had  known  him  were  well  aware  of  tlie  sincerity  of  his  religious 
belief,  and  of  his  solemn  and  silent  adoration  of  the  Saviour ;  but 
it  was  observed  from  this  time  that  his  faith  exercised  a  more  con- 
stant sway  over  his  actions.  The  tone  of  his  writings  is  higher, 
and  they  contain  almost  unceasing  aspirations  after  the  spiritual. 
The  same  humility,  which  in  a  singular  degree  now  made  him  so 
modest  and  unobtrusive  with  the  public,  ordered  all  his  ways  in 
private  life.  The  humble  opinion  he  had  of  himself  could  have 
arisen  from  no  other  source  than  from  reverence  to  God,  whose  ser- 
vant he  felt  himself  to  be,  and  debtor  beyond  all  for  the  possession 
of  those  gifts  which,  in  the  difiidcnce  of  his  soul,  he  hoped  he  had 
used,  "  if  not  for  the  benefit,  not  for  the  detriment  of  his  fellow- 
mortals."  As  a  specimen  of  his  thoughts,  and  as  introductory  to 
the  life  of  peace  and  charity  which  he  led  in  his  seclusion  at  Roslin, 
I  refer  my  readers  to  a  noble  passage  on  Intellect  ;*  it  forms  a  touch- 
ing conti'ast  to  the  simplicity  and  tenderness  of  disposition  whieh 
caused  him  to  turn  aside  from  these  lofty  communings  to  the  com- 
mon humanities  of  nature.  He  was  well  known  in  the  houses  of 
the  poor.  No  humble  friend  was  ever  cast  aside  if  honest  and  up- 
right. During  the  summer,  an  old  servant  of  my  mothei's,  who 
had  formerly  lived  many  years  in  her  service,  had  fallen  into  bad 
health,  and  was  ordered  change  of  air.     She  was  at  once  invited  to 

♦  "  Our  Pocket  Companioui,"  BlaokicoofVi  U'lgutint,  vol.  illv.,  1S3S. 


386  MEMOIK    OF    JOHN    WILSON. 

Rosliu,  and  Jessie  willingly  aviuleJ  herself  of  my  fathei''s  kindness, 
and  came  to  his  liouse;  but  the  change  was  of  little  service  ;  con- 
sumiition  had  taken  lirm  hold,  and  soon  the  poor  invalid  was  con- 
tincd  to  bed  never  more  to  rise.  That  she  was  considerately  at- 
tended and  soothed  during  those  long  watches — the  sad  accompani- 
ment of  this  lingering  disease — was  only  what  was  to  have  been 
expected,  but  it  was  no  unfrequent  sight  to  see  my  Either,  as  early 
dawn  streaked  the  sky,  sitting  by  the  bedside  of  the  dying  woman, 
arranging  with  gentle  but  awkward  liand  the  pillow  beneath  her 
head,  or  cheering  her  with  encouraging  words,  and  reading,  when 
she  desired  it,  those  portions  of  the  Bible  most  suitable  to  her  need. 
AVhen  she  died,  her  master  laid  her  head  in  the  grave  in  Lasswade 
churcliynrd. 

This  whole  season  was  burdened  with  one  feeling  which  tinged  all 
he  wrote,  and  never  quite  left  him.*  In  October,  he  returned  to 
Edinl)urgh  and  i-esumed  his  college  duties,  how,  we  have  already 
seen  in  Mr.  Smith's  reminiscences.  About  this  time  circumstances 
occurred  that  in  a  measure  removed  the  gloom  which  had  settled 
upon  his  mind.  Two  of  his  daughters  were  married,f  and  the  pleas- 
ant interchange  of  social  civilities,  which  generally  takes  place  on 
these  occasions,  led  him  into  a  wider  circle  of  friends  than  formerly. 

*  "  There  is  another  incident  of  that  period  which  brings  out  the  profound  emotion  in  a  way  too 
characteristically  singular  to  be  repeated,  were  it  not  known  beyond  the  private  circle: — how  two 
pet  dogs,  special  favorites  of  Mrs.  Wilson's,  having  got  astray  within  the  preserve-grounds  of  an 
estate  near  which  their  owner  was  then"  staying  in  the  country,  were  shot  by  the  son  of  the  pro- 
prietor, while  engaged  in  field-sports  with  other  gentleuien,  and  were  iifterwards  ascertained,  to 
their  extreme  regret,  to  belong  to  Professor  Wilson,  to  whom  they  sent  an  immediate  explana- 
tion, h;istening  to  follow  it  up  afterwards  by  apologies  in  person.  His  indignation,  however,  it  is 
said,  was  uncontrollable,  and  we  can  conceive  that  leonine  aspect  in  its  prime— dilating,  flaming, 
flushed  with  the  sudden  distraction  of  a  grief  that  became  rage,  seeing  nothing  before  it  but  the 
embodiment,  as  it  were,  of  the  great  destroyer.  The  occasion,  it  was  gravely  argued  by  a  ine- 
diutiir,  was  one  for  the  display  of  magnanimity.  '  Magnamimitt  !'  was  the  emphatic  reply,— 
'  Why,  sir,  I  showed  the  utmost  magnanimity  this  morning  when  one  of  the  murderers  was  in 
tliid  very  room,  and  I  did  not  pitch  him  out  of  the  window  I'  As  jnurder  he  accoi-dingly  persisted 
in  regarding  it,  with  a  sullen  obstinate  desire  for  justice,  which  required  no  small  degree  of  maji- 
ogenient  on  the  part  of  friends,  and  of  propitiation  from  the  culprits,  to  prevent  his  making  it  a 
public  matter.     Untrained  to  ciUamity,  like  Lear,  when  all  at  once — 

" '  The  king  is  mad !  how  stitT  is  our  vile  sense  ' 

That  we  st;ind  up,  and  have  ingenious  feeling 

Of  our  huge  sorrows!     Better  we  were  distract: 

So  should  our  thoughts  be  severed  from  our  griefs ; 

And  woes,  by  wrong  iui.aginations,  lose 

The  knowledge  of  llieniselves.'" 
—From  Mr.  t'u|iple"s  graceful  ^^Memorial  and  Estimate  of  Profcaaor  Wilson,  hy  a  Student^' 
4to.    Kdiiibu.-gh. 

+  The  eldest,  Margaret  Anne,  to  her  cousin,  Mr.  ,T.  F.  Ferrior,  now  Professor  of  Moral  Philos- 
0,'hy,  Sl  Andrews;  tiic  second,  Mai-y,  to  Mr.  J.  T.  Gordon,  now  Sheriff  of  Midlothian. 


i 


LITKEAliY    AND    DOMESTIC    LIKi;.  387 

By  tiie  marriage  of  his  second  daughter,  who,  along  with  her  lius- 
band,  found  a  lionie  for  eleven  years  in  lier  f  ither's  house,  a  eliange 
was  wrought  in  the  feehngs  of  some  of  the  cliief  men  of  the  Whig 
party  towards  him.  It  has  already  been  shown  to  what  an  extent 
the  bitterness  of  party  spirit  hud  separated  good  men  and  true  from 
each  otiier,  not  only  in  public  matters  but  in  private  life.  That 
spirit  was  now  dying  out,  and  the  alienation  which  had  for  some 
years  existed,  more  through  force  of  habit  than  inclination,  was 
soon  to  cease,  as  far  as  my  father  was  concerned.  Mr.  Gordon  was 
a  Wliig,  and  connected  with  Whig  families  ;  he  introduced  to  his 
father-in-law's  house  new  visitors  and  new  elements  of  thought ;  old 
prejudices  disnpjjeared,  and  "  Christopher  North"  was  frequently 
seen  in  the  midst  of  what  once  was  to  his  own  party  the  camp 
of  the  enemy.  Many  a  pleasant  day  they  spent  in  each  other's 
houses ;  and  no  observer,  however  dull,  could  fail  to  be  struck  even 
by  the  aspect  of  the  four  men  who  tluis  again  met  together,  Jefi- 
rey,  Cockburn,  Rutherfurd,  and  Wilson.  I  think  I  may  venture, 
without  partiality,  to  say  that  my  father  was  the  most  remarkable 
of  the  four.  There  was  a  certain  similarity  of  bearing  and  manner 
in  the  thiee  great  lawyers  which  was  not  shared  by  him  :  he  was 
evidently  not  one  of  the  family.  I  shall  never  forget  his  manly 
voice,  pleasantly  contrasting  with  Jeffrey's  sharp  silvery  tones,  as 
they  mingled  sparkling  wit  with  their  more  serious  discourse,  which 
was  enlivened  by  the  quaint  humor  and  Doric  notes  of  Cockburn, 
that  type  of  the  old  Scottish  gentleman,  whose  dignifietl  yet  homely 
manner  and  solemn  beauty  gave  his  aspect  a  peculiar  grace — Ruth- 
erfurd also,  to  whose  large  mind,  consummate  ability,  rich  and  ripe 
endowments,  I  most  willingly  pay  a  most  sincere  and  affectionate 
tribute  of  true  regard  and  respect.*  It  will  not  do  for  me  to  dwell 
on  these  things,  however  pleasant  to  myself  would  be  a  digression 
into  this  fairy-land  of  reminiscence. f 

*  The  mutual  appreciation  and  familiar  friendship  of  Wilson  and  Rutherfurd  was  us  instant  as 
are  question  and  answer  to-day  by  teU^irraph;  and  I  cannot  now  recall,  without  emotion,  the  fond 
and  constant  attachment  which  the  srreat  and  busy  lawyer  felt  and  manifested  to  "  Christopher 
Nortli."'  I  liave  before  me  at  this  moment  letter  after  letter,  written  during  a  course  of  years  to 
my  husband  from  his  uncle  in  London,  in  the  din  of  the  heaviest  seasons  of  otUcial  duty,  not  one 
of  which  ever  concludes  without  some  special  message  to  or  inquiry  about  the  '•  Professor."' 

t  Nobody,  however,  will  grudge  me  a  few  words  in  honor  of  that  ami.ible  and  admirable  luan, 
he  late  Lord  Murray,  who  may  be  said  to  have  lived  in  the  open  air  of  universal  and  cheerful 
l»ispit;ility.  His  heart  and  his  hearth  were  alike  op.ii,  with  an  eniial  warmth  of  welcome,  to  all, 
old  and  yoiuii;,  big  or  little.  None  undersloo.l  or  relished  better  than  he  did  the  joyous  benev- 
olence ol  my  father's  disposition.     I  wiah  1  could  liu;,'er  a  little  over  the  agreeable  reunions  in 


388  MEMOIR    OK    JOHN    WILSON'. 

My  father,  since  the  days  when  he  wrote  in  the  EiUnbirjh.  had 
achieved  a  position  iu  letters  not  only  different  from  Jeffrey's,  but 
higher  and  nioie  enduring.  As  a  critic,  he  had  worked  in  a  deeper 
mine  than  the  Edinburgh  Reviewer,  dealing  less  with  mere  forms, 
and  more  with  the  true  spirit  of  art. 

His  great  work,  indeed,  was  that  which  to  me  seems  the  highest 
destiny  of  man,  to  teach  ;  and  his  lessons  have  spread  far  and  near. 
In  the  limitations  of  his  genius  lay  its  excellence ;  it  made  him  pat- 
riotic ;  and  if,  for  example,  his  name  is  not  linked  with  individual 
creations  of  character  such  as  bind  the  name  of  Goethe  with  Faust 
or  Werther  or  Wilbelm  Meister,  yet  his  immediate  influence  extends 
over  a  wider  sphere  of  life.     These  creations  of  the  great  German, 
though  quite  accordant  with  nature,  speak  but  to  a  high  order  of 
cultivation.     They  are  works  containing  a  spirit  and  action  of  life, 
tiie  sympathies  of  which  can  never  enter  the  hut  of  the  peasant  or 
the   homes  of  the  poor.     On  the  other  hand,  Wilson  is  thoroughly 
patriotic  ;  there  is  not  a  class  in  the  whole  of  Scotland  incapable  of 
enjoying  his  writings  ;  and  I  believe  his  influence  in  the  habits  and 
modes  of  thought  on  every  subject,  grave  or  gay,  is  felt  throughout 
the  country.     Be  it  politics,  literature,  or  sport,  there  is  not  one  of 
these  themes  that   lias  not  taken   color  from  him — a  sure  test  of 
genius.     In  the   ^  Xoctes"  alone  is  seen  his  creative  power  in  indi- 
vidual character ;  yet  its  most  original  conception  is  not  a  type,  but 
a  bemg  of  time  and  place.     The  Shepherd  is  not  to  be  found  every- 
where in  Scotland,  cither  sitting  at  feasts,  or  tending  his  flocks  on 
the  hill-side.     We  are  not  familiar  with  him  as  we  are  with  the  char- 
acters  of  Charles  Dickens.     We  have  to  imagine  the  one  ;  we  see 
and  know   the  others.     Christopher  himself  is  typical  of  Avhat  has 
tteen  ;  he  presides  at  these  meetings,  when  philosophy  mounts  high, 
with  the  dignity  of  a  minister  of  blue-eyed  Athene.     The  spirit  of 
the  Greek  school  is  upon  him,  and  we  can  fancy,  that,  before  assem- 
bling his  companions  together,  he  invoked  the  gods  for  eloquence  and 
wisdom.     There  he  was  great ;  but  in  his  tales,  his  Recreations,  and 
his  poetry,  the  true  nature  of  the  man,  as  he  lived  at  home,  is  to  be 
found.     In   the  simple  ways  of  his  daily  life,  I  see  him  as  he  some- 
times used  to  be,  in  his  own  room,  surrounded  by  his  family — the 

Jcflfrcy's  house  in  his  latter  ye.irs,  which,  under  the  mellowed  lustre  of  a  simple  domestic  fire- 
side, rivalic4l  the  sprishtliesi  fascinations  of  a  Hotel  R.-jmbouillet.  No  friend  went  to  them,  or 
was  there  greeted,  with  more  cordial  sympathy  than  Professor  Wilson. 


LITERARY    AND   DOMESTIC    LITE.  389 

prestige  of  greatness  laid  aside,  and  \,\ie  very  strength  of  his  hand 
softened,  that  he  might  gently  caress  the  infant  on  his  knee,  and  play 
uith  the  little  ones  at  his  feet.  And  many  a  game  was  played  with 
fun  and  frolic ;  stories  were  told,  harley-sugar  was  eaten,  and  feasts 
of  various  kinds  given,  "A  party  in  grandpapa's  room"  was 
ever  hailed  with  delight.  There  was  to  be  seen  a  tempting  display 
of  figs,  raisins,  cakes,  and  other  good  things,  all  laid  out  on  a  table 
set  and  covered  by  himself;  while  he,  acting  on  the  occasion  as 
waiter,  was  ordered  about  in  the  most  unceremonious  fashion.  After 
a  while,  when  childhood  was  passing  away  from  the  frolics  of  the 
nursery,  and  venturing  to  explore  the  mysteries  of  life,  he  would 
speak  to  his  little  friends  as  companions,  and  passing  from  gay  to 
grave,  led  their  young  spirits  on,  and  bound  their  hearts  to  his. 

In  speaking  of  his  kindness  to  human  pets ^  I  may  mention  a  very 
delightful  instance  of  his  love  to  the  inferior  animals.  I  remember 
a  hapless  sparrow  being  found  lying  on  the  door-steps  scarcely 
fledged,  and  quite  unable  to  do  for  itself.  It  was  brought  into  the 
house,  and  from  that  moment  became  &  protege  of  my  father's.  It 
found  a  lodging  in  his  room,  and  ere  long  was  perfectly  domestica- 
ted, leading  a  life  of  uninterrupted  peace  and  prosj)erity  for  nearly 
eleven  years.  It  seemed  quite  of  opinion  that  it  was  the  most  im 
portant  occupant  of  the  apartment,  and  would  peck  and  chirp  where 
it  liked,  not  untrequently  nestling  in  the  folds  of  its  patron's  waist, 
coat,  attracted  by  the  warmth  it  found  there.  Then  with  bolder 
stroke  of  familiarity,  it  would  hop  upon  his  shoulder,  and  |)icking 
off  some  straggling  hair  from  the  long  locks  hanging  about  his  neck, 
would  jump  away  to  its  cage,  and  depositing  the  treasure  with  an 
air  of  triumph,  return  to  fresh  conquest,  quite  certain  of  welcome. 
The  creature  seemed  positively  influenced  by  constant  association 
with  its  master.  It  grew  in  stature,  and  began  to  assume  a  noble 
and  defiant  look.  It  was  alleged,  in  fact,  that  he  was  gradually  be- 
coming an  eagle. 

Of  his  dogs,  their  name  was  Legion.  I  remember  Bronte,  Rover 
Fang,  Paris,  Charlie,  Fido,  Tip,  and  Grog,  besides  outsiders  with- 
out number, 

Bronte  comes  first  on  the  list.  He  came,  I  think,  into  the  family 
in  the  year  1826,  a  soft,  shapeless  mass  of  puppyhood,  and  grew  up 
a  beautiful  Newfoundland  dog,  "  Purple-black  was  he  all  ovei-, 
evept  the  star  on   his  breast,  as  the  raven's  wing.     Strength  and 


390  MEMOIK    OF   JOUN    WILSON. 

Bagncity  emboldened  his  bounding  beauty,  and  a  ficrr-eness  lay  deep 
down  within  the  quiet  lustre  o'  his  een  that  tauld  you,  even  wlien 
lie  laid  his  head  upon  your  knees,  and  smiled  up  to  y';ur  lace  like  a 
verra  intellectual  and  moral  creature — as  he  was — that  had  he  been 
angered,  he  coald  have  torn  in  pieces  a  Eon.''*  He  was  brave  and 
gentle  in  disposition,  and  we  all  loved  him,  but  he  was  my  father's 
peculiar  property,  of  which  he  was,  by  the  way,  quite  aware  ;  he 
evinced  for  him  a  constancy  that  gained  in  return  the  confidence 
and  atiection  of  his  master.  Every  day  for  several  years  did  Bronte 
walk  by  his  side  to  and  from  the  College,  where  he  was  soon  as 
well  known  as  the  Professor  himself.  This  fine  dog  came  to  an  un- 
timely end.  There  was  good  reason  to  believe  that  he  had  been 
poisoned  by  some  members  of  Dr.  Knox's  class,  in  revenge  for  the 
remarks  made  by  my  father  on  the  Burke  and  Hare  raurders.f  I 
remember  the  morning  we  missed  Bronte  from  the  breakfast-room, 
a  half-formed  presentiment  told  us  that  something  was  wrong  ;  we 
called,  but  no  bounding  step  answered  the  summons.  I  went  to 
look  for  him  in  the  schoolroom,  and  there  he  lay  lifeless.  I  could 
not  believe  it,  and  touched  him  gently  with  my  foot ;  he  did  not 
move.  I  bent  down  and  laid  my  hand  on  his  head,  but  it  was  cold; 
poor  Bronte  was  dead  I  "  Xo  bark  like  his  now  belongs  to  the 
world  of  sound ;"  and  so  passed  Bronte  ''  to  the  laud  of  hereafter." 
It  was  some  time  ere  he  found  a  successor  ;  but  there  was  no  living 
without  dogs,  and  the  next  was  Rover,  of  whom  I  have  already 
spoken. 

The  house  in  Gloucester  Place  was  a  rendezvous  for  all  kinds  of 
dogs.  My  father's  kindliness  of  nature  made  him  open  his  house 
for  his  four-footed  friends,  who  were  too  numerous  to  describe. 
There  was  Professor  Jameson's  Xeptune,  a  Xewfoundland  dog, 
Mrs.  Ilutherfurd's  Juba,  a  pet  spaniel,  and  Wasp,  a  Dandy  Din- 
mont,  belonging  to  Lord  Rutherfurd,  who  were  constant  visitors ; 
but  the  most  notorious  sorner  of  the  whole  party  was  Tory,  brother 
to  Fang,  both  sons  of  !Mr.  Blackwood's  famous  dog.  Tickler.  Tory 
paid  his  \'isits  with  the  cool  assurance  of  a  man  of  the  world,  the 
agreeableness  of  whose  society  was  not  to  be  questioned  for  a  mo- 
ment ;  he  remained  as  long  as  he  wished,  was  civil  and  good-hu- 
mored to  every  one,  but,  as  a  matter  of  course,  selected  the  m:x6ter 
of  the  house  as  his  chief  companion,  walked  with  him,  and  patron- 

*  XocU-g  JinbroitiutKt.  t  lUd. 


LITERARY    AND    DOMK6TIC    LIFE.  391 

izbd  him.  I  tliink  he  looked  upon  himself  as  the  binduig  link 
between  the  bitter  Tory  of  the  old  re<jirae^  and  the  moderate 
Conservative  of  the  new.  Tliere  was  evidently  a  feeling  of  par- 
tisanship in  his  mind  as  he  took  up  his  position  at  tlie  door  of  Mr. 
FJlackwood's  shop,  either  to  throw  the  Professor  off  or  take  him  up, 
as  the  case  miglit  be.  I  never  knew  so  eccentric  a  dog  as  Tory ; 
he  had  many  liiends,  but  his  ways  were  queer  and  wandering. 
There  was  no  place  of  public  amusement  he  did  not  attend ;  his 
principles  were  decidedly  those  of  a  dog  about  town ;  and  though 
serious,  grave,  and  composed  in  deportment,  he  preferred  stir  and 
excitement  to  rest  and  decorum.  Tory  was  never  known  to  go  to 
church,  but  at  the  door  of  the  theatre,  or  at  the  Assembly  llooms, 
he  has  been  seen  to  linger  for  hours.  He  was  a  long-backed  yellow 
terrier,  with  his  front  feet  slightly  turned  out,  and  an  expression  of 
countenance  full  of  mildness  and  wisdom.  Tory  continued  his 
visits  to  Gloucester  Place,  and  his  friendship  for  the  Professor,  for 
several  years,  but  he  did  not  neglect  other  friends,  for  he  exhibited 
his  partiality  for  many  individuals  in  the  street,  accompanying  them 
in  their  walk,  and  perhaps  going  home  with  them.  This  erratic  and 
indei)endent  mode  of  existence  brought  him  much  into  notice. 
There  must  be  many  in  Edinburgh  who  remember  his  knowing 
look  and  strange  habits. 

One  other  such  companion  must  be  mentioned,  the  last  ray  father 
ever  had ;  he  belonged  to  his  son  Blair,  and  was  originally  the 
property  of  a  cab-driver  in  Edinburgh.  Grog  was  his  name,  and 
it  argues  the  unpoetical  position  he  held  in  early  life.  He  was  the 
meekest  and  gentlest,  and  almost  the  smallest  doggie  I  ever  saw. 
His  color  Avas  a  rich  chestnut  brown  ;  his  coat,  smooth  and  short, 
might  be  compared  to  the  wing  of  a  pheasant ;  and  as  he  lay  nest- 
ling in  the  sofa,  he  looked  much  more  like  a  bird  than  a  dog.  I 
think  he  never  followed  my  father  in  the  street,  their  intimacy  be- 
ing confined  entirely  to  domestic  life ;  he  was  too  petit  to  venture 
near  Christopher  as  he  strode  along  the  street,  but  many  a  little 
snooze  he  took  within  the  folds  of  his  ample  coat,  or  in  the  pocket 
of  his  jacket,  or  sometimes  on  the  table  among  his  papers.  I  can- 
not pretend  to  say  of  Avhat  breed  Grog  had  come  ;  he  had  little, 
comical,  turned-out  feet;  he  was  a  cosy,  coaxing,  mysterious,  half- 
mouse,  half-bird-like  dog ;  a  fancy  article,  and  might  have  been 
bought  very  litly  ft\>m  a  bazaar  of  larly's  work,  made  up  for  the 


392  mi:moik  of  joiin  wilson. 

occasion,  and  sold  at  a  hiu;h  price  on  account  of  his  rarity.  He  died 
easily,  being  found  one  morning  on  his  master's  pillow  lifeless;  his 
little  heart  had  ceased  to  beat  during  the  night.  The  Professor 
was  very  sad  when  he  died,  and  vowed  he  never  would  have  any 
more  dogs — and  he  kept  his  vow. 

In  connection  with  this  subject,  there  remains  something  to  be 
tsaid  of  his  continued  devotion  to  the  birds  mentioned  in  an  earlier 
part  of  this  Memoir.  I  think  it  was  the  love  of  the  beautiful  in  all 
created  things  that  made  my  father  admire  the  glossy  plumage, 
delicate  snake-like  head,  and  noble  air  of  game  birds — the  aristoc- 
racy of  their  species.  For  many  months  he  pampered  and  fed  no 
fewer  than  sixty-tico  of  these  precious  bipeds  in  the  back-green  of 
his  house.  The  noise  made  by  this  fearful  regiment  of  birds  beg- 
gars all  description,  yet,  be  it  said,  for  the  honor  of  human  patience 
and  courtesy,  not  a  single  complaint  ever  came  from  friend  or 
neighbor ;  for  months  it  went  on,  and  still  this 

"Bufera  infernal" 
was  listened  to  in  silence.* 

Fearing  lest  any  of  his  pets  should  expand  their  wings  and  take 
flight,  their  master  sought  to  prevent  this  by  clipping  a  wing  of 
each.  He  chanced  to  fix  upon  a  day  for  this  operation  when  his 
son-in-law,  Mr,  Gordon,  was  occupied  in  his  room  with  his  clerk, 
the  apartment  adjoining  which  was  the  place  of  rendezvous. 
Chanticleer,  at  no  time  "  most  musical,  most  melancholy"  of  birds, 
on  this  occasion  made  noise  enough  to  "  create  a  soul  under  the 
ribs  of  death."  Such  an  uproar  !  sounds  of  fluttering  of  feathers, 
accompanied  by  low  chucklings,  half  hysterical  cackling,  suppress- 
ed crowing,  and  every  sign  of  agitation  and  rage  that  lungs  not 
human  could  send  forth.  During  the  whole  of  this  proceeding, 
extraordinary  as  it  may  have  appeared  to  the  uninitiated  ear,  not 
an  observation  escaped  the  lips  of  the  clerk,  who  for  more  than  an 
hour  was  subjected  to  "this  lively  din." 

If,  however,  the  silence  of  neighbors  did  honor  to  their  virtue, 
there  were  distresses  and   perplexities    which   domestic   tongues 

*  His  medical  altendant  naively  relates  that  one  day  when  the  Professor  took  him  into  his 
"  aviary,'"  and  pointoil  out  the  varied  beauties  of  his  birds,  the  Doctor  asked,  "  Do  they  never 
fiu'lit  y"  "  Fight !"'  replied  Uie  Professor.  •'  you  little  know  the  noble  nature  of  the  animal ;  he  will 
aot  fislit  iitilcss  he  is  incited;  but,"  added  he,  with  a  humorous  twinkle  of  the  eye,  "put  a  hen 

amoMi;  iheu),  and  I  won't  answer  for  the  peace  bcins  long  observed; and  so  it  hath  buen  sinca 

the  be^'iniiiiiif  of  the  world,"  added  the  old  ni:in  eloquent 


LITERARY    AKD    DOMESTIC    LIFE.  393 

found  no  difficulty  in  expressing.  Two  of  the  birds  fell  sick,  and 
change  of  air  was  considered  necessary  for  their  restoration  to 
health.  A  happy  thought  suggested  to  the  Professor,  that  an  hos- 
pital might  be  found  for  the  invalids  in  a  room  of  the  attic  story, 
where  boxes  and  various  unused  articles  of  the  menage  v/ere  kept, 
in  short,  the  lumber-room,  not  unfrequently,  however,  a  repository 
for  very  valuable  articles — so  far  belying  its  name.  In  this  apart- 
ment, for  more  than  a  week,  Avalked  in  undisturbed  quiet  the  two 
invalids,  tended,  fed,  and  visited  many  times  during  each  day  by 
their  watchful  patron.  Health  by  those  means  was  restored,  and 
nothing  now  remained  but  to  remove  the  pets  to  their  old  abode  in 
ihe  back-green,  where  they  crowed  and  strutted  more  insolently 
than  ever.  A  few  d:iys  after  the  lumber-room  had  been  evacuated 
by  its  feathered  tenants,  the  Professor's  daughters  ascended  to  the 
said  apartment,  ha})py  in  the  possession  there — secure  in  a  well- 
papered  trunk — of  certain  beautiful  ball-dresses  to  be  worn  that 
very  night  in  all  the  freshness  of  unsullied  crape  and  ribbons. 
What  sight  met  their  eyes  on  opening  the  door  of  the  room  !  Hor- 
rible to  say,  the  elegant  dresses  were  lying  on  the  floor  in  a  corner, 
soiled,  torn,  and  crumpled,  in  fact  useless.  The  box  in  which  they 
had  been  so  carefully  laid,  had  been,  on  account  of  its  size,  at  once 
secured  by  the  Professor  as  an  eligible  coop  for  his  l)irds.  The 
dresses  Avere  of  no  value  in  his  eyes;  probably  he  did  not  know 
what  they  were ;  so  tossing  them  ruthlessly  out,  he  left  them  to 
their  fate.  It  was  quite  evident,  from  the  appearance  they  pre- 
sented, that  along  with  the  empty  trunk — according  to  the  caprice 
of  the  fowls — they  had  been  used  as  a  nest.  To  imagine  the  feel- 
ings of  the  young  ladies  at  the  sight  of  their  fair  vanities,  "  all  tat- 
tered and  torn,"  is  to  call  up  a  subject  which,  even  at  this  distant 
date,  causes  a  natural  pang.  It  was  a  trial  certainly  not  borne  with 
much  patience,  and  no  doubt,  in  the  hour  of  disappoint  li^ent,  called 
.forth  expressions  of  bitter  and  undisguised  hatred  towards  \\\  ani- 
1  mated  nature  in  the  sha|)e  oi  feathers.  The  aviary  was  \fter  a 
time  shut  up,  and  all  its  inhabitants  were  sent  olf  in  various  direc- 
tions. The  following  note  to  Dr.  Moir  will  show  how  they  wei'e 
disposed  of: — 

"G  Gloucestkr  Place,  Monday. 
"My  dear  Sir: — I  have  a  game-cock  of  great  value  which  I 
wish  to  walk  (as  it  is  technically  terme<i)  for  a  \\i\y  months.     Cau 


394  MEMom  OF  jonx  wilsox. 

you  take  him  in  ?  This  will  depend  entirely  on  your  setting  any 
value  on  the  bird  you  now  may  have,  and  who,  I  presume,  is  Dung- 
hill, if  you  do,  on  no  account  displace  him  from  his  own  throne. 
If  you  do  not,  I  will  bring  mine  down  on  Thursday,  and  see  him 
safely  deposited  in  your  back  court.  In  that  case,  his  present 
majesty  must  either  be  put  to  death  or  expatriated,  as  if  put  to- 
gether thev  will  fall  by  mutual  wounds.     Yours  affectionately, 

"J.    WiLSOX." 

Apparently  the  only  article  from  his  pen  during  1840  in  Dlack- 
tcood  was  a  review  of  "  A  Legend  of  Florence,"  by  Leigh  Hunt.  If 
he  had  not  long  ere  that  made  the  amende  honorable  for  the  unjust 
bitterness  of  the  past,  he  certainly  in  this  review  used  "  the  gracious 
tact,  the  Christian  art,"  to  heal  all  wounds,  illustrating  finely  his 
own  memorable  words,  "  The  animosities  are  mortal,  but  the  hinnan- 
ities  live  forever." 

Preparatory  to  beginning  an  essay  upon  Burns,  which  he  had 
engaged  to  write  for  the  Messrs.  Blackie,  he  was  desirous  to  seek 
the  best  domestic  traces  of  him  that  could  be  found,  and  naturally 
turned  to  Dumfriesshire  for  such  information.  Two  interesting  let- 
ters to  Mr.  Thomas  Aird,  will,  better  than  words  of  mine,  show  how 
earnestly  he  set  about  his  work,  although  I  cannot,  at  the  same  time, 
avoid  drawing  attention  to  certain  expressions  of  anxious  interest 
concerning  the  better  part  of  the  man.  For  example,  his  desire  to 
hear  "  if  Burns  was  a  church-goer,  regular  or  irregular,  and  to  what 
church."  All  his  inquiries  show  a  tender  sympathy,  a  Christian  de- 
sire to  place  that  erring  spirit  justly  before  men,  for  well  did  he 
know  how  in  this  world  foults  are  judged.  There  is  a  touching 
simplicity,  too,  in  the  personal  allusions  in  these  words,  '•'■  Her  eyes 
never  having  looked  on  the  Xith." 

"■May  3,  1840. 

"  My  dear  ]\Ie.  Aird  : — I  have  been  ill  with  rose  in  my  head  for 
more  than  a  fortnight,  and  it  is  still  among  the  roots  of  my  hair,  but 
in  about  a  week  or  so,  I  think  I  shall  be  able  to  move  in  the  open 
air  without  danger.  I  have  a  leaning  towards  Dumfriesshire,  it  being 
unhaunted  by  the  past,  or  less  haunted  than  almost  any  other  place, 
her  eyes  never  having  looked  on  the  Xith.  Perhaps  thereabouts  I 
might  move,  and  there  find  an  hour  of  peace.  Is  Thornhill  a  pleasant 
villagce  ?  and  is  there  an  inn  between  it  and  Dumfries?     Is  there  an 


LITERARY    AND    DOMESTIC    LITE,  395 

inn  in  the  pass  of  Dalvine  ?  Is  Penpont  habitable  quietly  for  a  few 
days,  or  any  of  the  pretty  villajjjc-iiins  in  that  district?  Pray  let  me 
hear  from  you  at  your  leisure  how  the  land  lies.  Perhaps  I  may 
afterwards  step  down  to  your  town  for  a  day,  but  I  wish,  if  I  make 
out  a  week's  visit  to  Nithsdale  or  neighborhood,  to  do  so  unknown 
but  to  yourself.     Affectionately  yours,  Joiix  Wilsox." 

Four  months  later  we  find  him  writing  again  to  the  same  friend : — 

"Edixbdrgh,  Sqyt.  24,  184:0. 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Aird  : — I  have  at  last  set  to  work — if  that  be  not 
too  strong  an  assertion — on  my  paper  about  Burns,  so  long  promised 
to  the  Messrs.  Blackie  of  Glasgow,  for  Hie  Land  of  Bums.  They 
have  in  hand  about  fifty  printed  quarto  pages,  but  some  of  it  has  not 
been  returned  to  me  to  correct  for  press.  They  expect,  I  believe, 
thirty  or  fifty  more. 

"  Can  you  find  out  from  good  authority  in  Dumfries  (Jessie 
Lewars,  they  say,  is  yet  alive,  and  is  Mrs.  Thomson)  if  Burns  was 
a  church-goer  at  Dumfries,  regular  or  irregular,  and  to  what  church  ? 
2.  If  he  was  on  habits  of  intimacy  with  any  clergyman  or  clergymen 
in  the  town — as,  for  example,  Dr.  Burnside?  In  1803, 1  stayed  two 
days  with  the  Burnsides — all  dear  friends  of  mine  then^  and  long 
afterwards,  though  noio  the  survivors  are  to  me  like  the  dead.  I 
then  called  with  Mary  Burnside,*  now  ]\[rs.  Taylor,  in  Liverpool,  on 
Mrs.  Burns.  Robert  I  remember  at  Glasgow  College,  but  hardly 
knew  him,  and  I  dare  say  he  does  not  remember  me.  3.  Did  any 
clergyman  visit  him  on  his  dying  bed ;  and  is  it  supposed  that  when 
dying  the  Bible  was  read  by  him  more  than  formerly  or  not  ?  4. 
Had  Burns  frequent,  rare,  or  regular  family  worship  at  Dumfries? 
At  Ellisland  I  think  he  often  had.  If  these  questions  can  be  answered 
affirmatively,  in  whole  or  in  part,  I  shall  say  something  about  it ;  if 
not,  I  shall  be  silent,  or  nearly  so.  In  either  case  I  hope  I  shall  say 
nothing  wrong. 

"  I  have  not  left  Edinburgh  since  I  saw  you,  but  for  a  dav  or  so, 
and  I  won't  leave  it  till  this  contribution  to  Tlie  Life  of  liKms  is 
finished.  Then  I  intend  going  for  a  week  to  Kelso,  and  from  the 
20th  October  to  ditto  April,  if  spared,  be  in  this  room,  misnamed  a 

*  Mary  Burnside  was  the  friend  anil  eonfldant.e  of  the  "Orphan  Maid,"  whose  imago  was  no 
bard  to  tear  from  his  young  heart. 


39G  MEMOIR  or  JOHN  wilson. 

study — it  is  a  sort  of  library.  1  am  alone  witli  one  daughter,  my 
good  J.ine ;  her  mother's  name,  and  much  of  her  nature — but  not 
.  .  ..     Yours  affectionately,  John  Wilson." 

During  this  summer  he  went  into  Dumfries  and  Galloway,  accom- 
panied by  his  two  sous.  I  have  an  interesting  account  of  a  visit  he 
paid  to  tlie  Rev.  George  Murray  of  Balmaclellan,  Glenkens,  with  a 
day's  fishing  in  Lochinvar,  but  it  is  too  long  for  insertion. 

In  speaking  of  his  room,  Av^hich  he  calls  "a  sort  of  library,"  some- 
thing nuiy  be  said  of  that  careless  habit  which  overtook  him  in  his 
later  years,  and  gave  to  his  Avhole  appearance  an  air  of  reckless  free- 
dom. His  room  was  a  strange  mixture  of  what  may  be  called  order 
and  untidiness,  for  there  was  not  a  scrap  of  paper,  or  a  book,  that 
his  hand  could  not  light  upon  in  a  moment,  Avhile  to  the  casual  eye, 
in  search  of  discovery,  it  would  appear  chaos,  without  a  chance  of 
being  cleared  away. 

To  any  one  whose  delight  lay  in  beauty  of  furniture,  or  quaint  and 
delicate  ornament,  well-appointed  arraugements,  and  all  that  inde- 
scriV)able  fascination  caught  from  nick-nacks  and  articles  of  vertu,, 
that  apartment  must  have  appeared  a  mere  lumber-room.  The  book- 
shelves were  of  unpainted  wood,  knocked  uj)  in  the  rudest  fashion, 
and  their  volumes,  though  not  wanting  in  number  or  excellence, 
Avore  but  shabby  habiliments,  many  of  them  being  tattered  and 
Avithout  backs.  The  chief  pieces  of  furniture  in  this  room  Avere  tAvo 
cases :  one  containing  specimens  of  foreign  birds,  a  gift  from  an 
admirer  of  his  genius  across  the  Atlantic,  Avhich  was  used  incongru- 
ously enough  sometimes  as  a  Avardrobe;  the  other  Avas  a  book-case, 
but  not  entirely  devoted  to  books  ;  its  glass  doors  permitted  a  motley 
assortment  of  articles  to  be  seen.  The  spirit,  the  tastes  and  habits 
of  the  possessor  were  all  to  be  found  there,  side  by  side  like  a  little 
community  of  domesticities. 

For  example,  resting  upon  the  Wealth  of  N'ations  lay  shining 
coils  of  gut,  set  off  by  pretty  ])ink  tAviniugs.  Peeping  out  from 
JBo.dana^  in  juxtaposition  Avith  the  Faery  Queen,  Avere  no  end  of 
delicately  dressed  flies;  and  pocket-books  Avell  filled  with  gear  foi 
the  "gentle  craft"  found  company  with  Shakspere  and  Beu  Jon 
son ;  while  fishing-rods,  in  pieces,  stretched  their  elegant  length 
along  the  shelves,  embracing  a  whole  set  of  poets.  Nor  was  the 
gravest  philosophy  without  its  contrast,  and  Jeremy  Taylor,  too, 


LITERARY    AND    DOMESTIC    LIFE.  397 

found  innocent  repose  in  the  ncigliborliood  of  a  tin  box  of  barley- 
sugar,  excellent  as  when  bought  "  at  my  old  man's."  Here  and 
there,  in  the  interstices  between  books,  were  stuffed  what  ajipearel 
to  b^  dingy,  crumpled  bits  of  paper — these  were  bank-notes,  hi? 
class  fees — not  unfrequently,  for  want  of  a  purse,  thrust  to  the  bot- 
tom of  an  old  worsted  stocking,  when  not  honored  by  a  place  in 
the  book-case.  I  am  certain  he  very  rarely  counted  over  the  fees 
taken  from  his  students.  He  never  looked  at  or  touched  money  in 
the  usual  way  ;  he  very  often  forgot  where  he  put  it ;  saving  when 
these  stocking  banks  were  his  humor ;  no  one,  for  its  own  sake,  or 
for  his  own  purposes,  ever  regarded  riches  with  such  perfect  indif- 
ference. He  was  like  the  old  patriai-ch  whose  simple  desires  were 
comprehended  in  these  words : — "  If  God  will  be  with  me,  and  keep 
me  in  the  way  I  am  to  go,  and  give  me  bread  to  eat,  and  raiment 
to  put  on" — other  thought  of  wealth  he  had  not.  And  so  there  he 
sat,  in  the  majesty  of  unaffected  dignity,  surrounded  by  a  homeli- 
ness that  still  left  him  a  type  of  the  finest  gentleman  ;  courteous  to 
all,  easy  and  unembarrassed  in  address,  wearing  his  neglige  with  as 
much  grace  as  a  courtier  his  lace  and  plumes,  nor  leaving  otlicr  im- 
pression than  that  which  goodness  makes  on  minds  ready  to  ac- 
knowledge superiority;  seeing  there  "the  elements  so  mixed  in 
him,  that  nature  might  stand  up  and  say  to  all  the  world,  This  was 
a  man." 

"  Writing  for  Blackwood"  were  Avords  that  bore  no  pleasant  sig- 
nificance to  my  ears  in  the  days  of  childhood.  Well  do  I  remember, 
when  living  long  ago  in  Aim  Street,  going  to  school  with  my  sister 
Margaret,  that,  on  our  return  from  it,  the  first  question  eagerly  put 
by  us  to  the  servant  as  she  opened  the  door  was,  "Is  papa  busy 
to-day ;  is  he  writing  for  Blackwood  ?"  If  the  inquiry  was  answered 
in  the  affirmative,  then  oft*  went  our  shoes,  and  we  crei)t  up  stairs 
like  mice.  I  believe,  generally  si)eaking,  there  never  was  so  quiet  a 
nursery  as  ours.  Thus  "  writing  for  Blackwood"  found  little  favoi 
in  our  eyes,  and  the  grim  old  visage  of  Geordie  Buchanan  met  with 
very  rough  treatment  from  our  hands.  If,  as  sometimes  happened, 
a  number  of  the  Magazine  found  its  way  to  the  nursery,  it  iiever 
failed  to  be  tossed  from  floor  to  ceiling,  and  back  again,  until  tat- 
tered to  our  hearts'  content.  In  due  time  we  came  to  a]q)reciate 
better  the  value  of  these  labors,  when  we  learned  what  love  and 
duty  there  >'as  in   them  ;    and   a  good  lesson   of   endurance  and 


398 


MKtfOnt    OF   JOHN    ■WILSON. 


power  the  old  man  taught  by  the  very  manner  of  his  work.  How 
he  set  about  it,  d  ^^t'ojyos  of  his  study,  may  chiim  a  few  words  of 
description. 

His  habit  of  composition,  or  rather  I  should  say  the  execution  of 
it,  was  not  always  ordered  best  for  his  comfort.  The  amazing  ra« 
pidity  with  which  he  wrote,  caused  him  too  often  to  delay  his  v.'ork 
to  tlie  very  last  moment,  so  that  he  almost  always  wrote  under 
compulsion,  and  every  second  of  time  was  of  consequence.  Under 
such  a  mode  of  labor  there  was  no  hour  left  for  relaxation.  When 
regularly  in  for  an  article  for  Blackwood,  his  whole  strength  was 
put  forth,  and  it  may  be  said  he  struck  into  life  what  he  had  to  do 
at  a  blow.  He  at  these  times  began  to  write  immediately  after 
breakfast,  that  meal  being  dispatched  with  a  swiftness  commensu- 
rate Avith  the  necessity  of  the  case  before  him.  He  then  shut  him- 
self into  his  study,  with  an  express  command  that  no  one  was  to 
disturb  him,  and  he  never  stirred  from  his  writing-table  until  per- 
haps the  greater  part  of  a  "Noctes"  was  written,  or  some  paper  of 
equal  brilliancy  and  interest  completed.  Tlie  idea  of  breaking  his 
labor  by  taking  a  constitutional  walk  never  entered  his  thoughts  for 
a  moment.  Whatever  he  had  to  write,  even  though  a  day  or  two 
were  to  keep  him  close  at  work,  he  never  inten-upted  his  pen,  saving 
to  take  his  night's  rest,  and  a  late  dinner  served  to  him  in  his  study. 
Tlic  hour  for  that  meal  was  on  these  occasions  nine  o'clock  ;  his 
dinner  then  consisted  invariably  of  a  boiled  fowl,  potatoes,  and  a 
glass  of  water — he  allowed  himself  no  wine.  After  dinner  he  re- 
sumed his  pen  till  midnight,  when  he  retired  to  bed,  not  unfrequeut- 
ly  to  be  disturbed  by  an  early  printer's  boy  ;  although  sometimes, 
these  familiars  did  not  come  often  enough  or  early  enough  for  their 
master's  work,*  as  may  be  seen  from  the  following  note  to  Mr. 
Ballantyne : — 

*  That  those  familiars  wcro  not  always  so  dilatory,  the  folb)'\ving  humorous  description  will  tes- 
tify : — "  O  tlicsc  printers'  devils  I  Like  urchins  on  an  ice-slide  keep-ing  the  pie  warm,  from  cock- 
crow tiil  owl-hoot  do  they  continue  in  unintcrmitting  succession  to  pour  from  the  far-off  office 
down  upon  M(jray  Place  or  Buchanan  Lodge,  one  imp  almost  on  the  verj'  shoulders  of  another, 
without  a  minutii  di'vil-frce,  crying,  '  Copy  !  copy !'  in  every  variety  of  intonation  possiMe  in  grulf 
or  shrill;  and  should  I  chance  to  drop  asleep  over  an  article,  worn  down  by  protracted  siifferinN'S 
to  mere  skin  and  bone,  as  j'ou  see,  till  the  wick  of  my  candle — one  to  the  pound — hangs  drooping 
down  by  the  side  of  the  melting  mutton,  the  two  sunk  stories  are  swarmins  with  them  all  a- 
hum  !  Many,  doubtless,  die  during  the  year,  but  from  such  immense  numbers  thiy  are  never 
missed  any  nmre  than  the  midges  you  massacre  on  a  sultry  summer  eve.  Then  the  face  un<l 
figure  of  one  devil  are  so  like  another's — the  i>eople  who  have  time  to  pay  particular  atten- 
tion to  their  (lersonal  appearance,  which  I  have  not,  say  they  are  as  different  as  sheep.  Thaf 
tipsy  Thamiuuit  is  to  me  ail  one  with  liiwzy  IJeelzebub,""  &c. — Nocte.H. 


i 


LITERARY    AND    DOMESTIC    LIFE.  399 

"  The  boy  was  told  to  call  this  morning  at  seven,  and  said  he 
would,  but  lie  has  not  come  till  ....  I  rose  at  five  this  morning 
nn  purpose  to  bave  the  sheets  ready.  I  wish  you  could  order  the 
devils  to  be  more  punctual,  as  they  never  by  any  accident  appear 
in  this  house  at  a  proper  time.  The  devil  who  broke  his  word  is 
he  who  broiight  ike  Jirst  packet  last  night.  The  devil  who  brought 
the  second,  is  in  this  blameless.  I  do  not  wish  the  first  devil  to  get 
more  than  his  due :  but  you  must  snub  him  for  my  sake.  For  a 
man  who  goes  to  bed  at  two,  does  not  relish  leaving  it  at  five,  ex- 
cept in  case  of  life  or  death.  Would  you  believe  it,  I  am  a  little 
angry  just  now  ?  J.  W." 

I  do  not  exaggerate  his  power  of  speed,  when  I  say  he  wrote 
more  in  a  few  hours  than  most  able  writers  do  in  a  few  days ;  ex- 
amples of  it  I  have  often  seen  in  the  very  manuscript  before  him, 
which,  disposed  on  the  table,  was  soon  transferred  to  the  more 
roomy  space  of  the  floor  at  his  feet,  where  it  lay  "  thick  as  autum- 
nal leaves  in  Vallombrosa,"  only  to  be  piled  up  again  quickly  as 
before.  When  I  look  back  to  the  days  when  he  sat  in  that  con- 
fused, dusty  study,  working  sometimes  like  a  slave,  it  seems  to  me 
as  if  Hood's  "Song  of  the  Shirt,"  with  a  differenceofbui'den,  would 
apply  in  its  touching  words  to  him ;  for  it  was 

""Write,  write,  write, 
While  the  cock  is  crowing  aloof; 

And  write,  write,  write, 
Till  the  stars  shine  through  the  roof;" 

And  so  was  his  literature  made,  that  delightful  periodical  literature 
which,  "  say  of  it  w^liat  you  will,  gives  light  to  the  heads  and  heat 
to  the  hearts  of  millions  of  our  race.  The  greatest  and  best  men  of 
the  age  have  not  disdained  to  belong  to  the  Brotherhood ;  and  thus 
the  hovel  holds  what  must  not  be  missing  in  the  hall — the  furniture 
of  the  cot  is  the  same  as  that  of  the  palace  ;  and  duke  and  ditcher 
read  their  lessons  from  the  sume  page." 

He  never,  even  in  very  cold  weather,  had  a  fire  in  his  room  ;  noi 
did  it  at  night,  as  most  apartments  do,  get  heat  from  gas,  which  he 
])articular]y  disliked,  remaining  faithful  to  the  primitive  candle — a 
large  vulgar  tallow,  set  in  a  suitable  candlestick  composed  of  ordi- 
nary tin,  and  made  after  the  fashion  of  what  is  called  a  kitclu'n  can- 


4-00  MEMOIR   OF    JOHN    WILSON. 

dlestick.  What  his  fiincy  for  this  was  I  cannot  say,  but  lie  never 
did,  and  would  not,  make  use  of  any  other. 

From  1840  to  1845  there  were  only  two  papers  contributed  by 
him  to  Blackwood,  viz.,  the  review  of  Leigh  Hunt's  Lefjend  of 
Florence^  already  spoken  of,  and  a  laudatory  criticism  of  Macaulay's 
iMys  of  Ancient  Home.  The  latter  appeared  in  December,  1842. 
This  cessation  from  labor  arose  in  the  first  instance  from  a  paralytic 
affection  of  his  right  hand,  which  attacked  him  in  May,  1840,  and 
disabled  him  for  nearly  a  year.  It  was  the  first  warning  he  received 
that  his  great  strength  and  wonderful  constitution  lay  under  the 
same  law  as  that  which  commands  the  weakest.  Writing  thence- 
forwai'd  became  irksome,  and  the  characters  traced  by  his  pen  are 
almost  undecipherable.  This  attack  gradually  wore  away,  but  it 
was  during  its  continuance,  and  for  years  after,  that  he  imposed 
upon  himself  rules  of  total  abstinence  from  wine  and  every  kind  of 
stimulant.  Toast  and  water  was  the  only  beverage  of  which  he 
partook. 

I  have  nothing  more  to  relate  of  this  time,  nor  are  there  any  other 
traces  of  literary  occupation  beyond  that  belonging  directly  to  his 
College  duties.  The  remaining  portion  of  this  year  must  be  per- 
mitted to  pass  in  silence ;  and  not  again  till  the  summer  of  1841,  is 
there  a  trace  of  any  thing  but  what  belongs  to  a  retired  and  quiet  life. 

In  June,  1841,  he  presided  at  a  large  public  dinner  given  in  honor 
of  Mr.  Charles  Dickens,*  and  immediately  afterwards  started  for 
the  Highlands.  The  following  letter  to  Mr.  Findlay  recalls  recol- 
lections of  that  delightful  tour.  I  was  then  with  him  at  Rothesay, 
as  his  communication  shows,  on  occasion  of  a  melancholy  n:itui  e, 
which,  however,  at  that  period  did  not  result  as  was  anticipated, 
and  left  the  summer  months  free  from  any  other  sorrow  than  that 
of  anxiety.  Mrs.  Gordon  rallied  for  a  time,  and  was  Avell  enough 
to  bear  removal  to  Edinburgh  in  the  autumn,  but  the  sad  condition 
in  which  she  was  brought  friends  around  her,  of  whom  my  father 
Tv'as  one ;  and  on  one  of  these  visits  to  Rothesay,  he  made  from 
thence  a  short  detour  by  Inverary  and  Loch  Awe,  taking  me  with 
him,  along  with  his  eldest  son  John. 

"ROTUESAT,  Thursday  Night, 
Jtdy  1,  1841. 
"  My  dear  Robert  : — Gordon  and  I  left  Edinburgh  suddenly  by 

*  n<i>nrtcd  In  Scotsjnan,  June  26,  1S41 


J 


LITER  ART    AND    DOMESTIC    LIFE.  401 

the  night  mail  on  Monday,  and  arrived  here  on  Tuesday  forenoon. 
Dr.  Hay  and  my  daughter  Mary  followed  in  the  afternoon,  in  con- 
sequence of  the  illness  of  Mrs.  Gordon,  senior,  who,  I  fear,  is  dying. 
To-diiy,  Mary  and  Gordon  had  nearly  met  a  i'atal  accident,  having 
been  upset  in  a  car,  over  a  considerable  (lc[)th  among  rocks  on  the 
shore-road,  along  with  their  friend  Mr.  Irvine,  and  his  son.  All 
were  for  a  while  insensible  except  Mary,  and  all  have  been  a  good 
deal  hurt.  Mary  was  brought  home  in  Mrs.  T.  Douglas's  carriage, 
and  is  going  on  well.  In  a  day  or  two  she  will  be  quite  well ;  and 
Gordon  is  little  the  worse.  It  was  near  being  a  fatal  accident,  and 
had  a  frightful  look.  I  was  not  of  the  party.  Mrs.  Gordon's  con- 
dition and  Mary's  accident  will  keep  me  here  a  day  or  two,  so  my 
plans  are  changed  for  the  present,  and  I  shall  not  be  at  Easter  Hill 
till  next  week.  Be  under  no  anxiety  about  Mary,  for  she  has  re- 
covered considerably,  and  will  soon  again  be  on  her  feet.  My  hand 
is  not  so  well  to-day,  and  I  fear  you  Avill  hardly  be  able  to  read  this 
scrawl.     Yours  aflfectionately,  John  Wilson." 

At  no  time  did  my  father  ever  appear  so  free  from  care  as  when 
communing  with  nature.  With  him  it  was  indeed  communion.  He 
did  not,  as  many  do  when  living  in  the  presence  of  fine  scenery, 
show  any  impatience  to  leave  one  scene  in  order  to  seek  another  ; 
no  restless  desii-e  to  be  on  the  top  of  a  mountain,  or  away  into  some 
distant  valley ;  but  he  would  linger  in  and  about  the  place  his  heart 
had  fixed  to  visit.  All  he  desired  was  there  before  him;  it  was 
almost  a  lesson  to  look  at  his  countenance  at  such  moments.  There 
was  an  expression,  as  it  were,  of  melancholy,  awe,  and  gratitude,  a 
fervent  inward  emotion  pictured  outwardly.  His  fine  blue  eye 
seemed  as  if,  in  and  beyond  nature,  it  saw  some  vision  that  beatified 
the  sight  of  earth,  and  sent  his  spirit  to  the  gates  of  heaven. 

I  remember  walking  a  whole  day  with  him,  rambling  about  the 
neighborhood  of  Cladich  ;  scarcely  a  word  was  uttered.  Now  and 
then  he  would  point  out  a  spot,  which  sudden  sun-gleams  made  for 
a  moment  what  he  called  a  "  sight  of  divine  beauty ;"  and  then 
again,  perhaps  when  some  more  extended  and  lengthened  duration 
of  light  overspread  the  whole  landscape,  making  it  a  scene  of  match- 
less loveliness,  gently  touching  my  arm,  he  signified,  by  a  motion 
of  his  hand,  that  I  too  must  t:ike  in  and  admire  what  he  did  not  ex- 
press by  words  ;  silence  at  such  moments  was  the  key  to  more  iu- 
17 


402  MEMOIR    OF   JOIIX    WILSO:!!. 

tense  enioyment.  We  sat  down  to  rest  on  an  eminence  at  the  head 
of  Loch  Awe,  when  the  midday  sun  glittered  over  every  island  and 
promontory,  streaking  the  green  fields  with  lines  of  gold.  Xot 
a  sound  escaped  his  lips  ;  but  when,  after  a  while,  the  softening 
sliades  of  afternoon  lent  a  less  intense  color  to  the  scene,  he  spoke  a 
few  words,  saying :  "  Long,  long  ago,  I  saw  such  a  sight  of  beauty 
here,  that  if  I  were  to  tell  it  no  one  would  believe  it ;  indeed,  I  am 
not  sure  whether  I  can  describe  what  I  saw  ;  it  was  truly  divine ! 
I  have  written  something  very  poor  and  feeble  in  attempt  to  de 
scribe  that  incomparable  sight,  Avhich  I  cannot  now  read ;  but  to 
my  dying  day  I  shall  not  forget  the  vision." 

Did  this  vision  suggest  "  Lays  of  Fairyland  ?" — taking  too,  in 
after  years,  another  form  than  verse.  It  appeared  in  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  morsels  of  prose  composition  he  ever  wrote,  which 
so  impressed  Lord  Jeftrey's  mind,  he  never  was  tired  of  read- 
ing it. 

It  is  a  description  of  a  foiry's  funeral,  and  rather  than  refer  the 
reader  to  the  volume  and  page  where  it  is  to  be  found,  I  give  the 
extract,  as  in  fitting  association  with  Loch  Awe  and  the  unforgotten 
vision  or  poet's  dream  near  the  brow  of  Ben  Ciuachan: — 

"There  it  was,  on  a  little  river  island,  that  once,  whether  sleep- 
mg  or  waking  we  know  not,  we  saw  celebrated  a  fairy's  funeral. 
First  we  heard  small  pipes  playing,  as  if  no  bigger  than  hollow 
rushes  that  whisper  to  the  night  winds  ;  and  more  piteous  thin 
aught  that  trills  from  earthly  instrument  was  the  scarce  audible 
dirge !  It  seemed  to  float  over  the  stream,  every  foam-bell  emit- 
ting a  })laintive  note,  till  the  fairy  anthem  came  floating  over  our 
couch,  and  then  alighting  without  footsteps  among  the  heather. 
The  pattering  of  little  feet  was  then  heard,  as  if  living  creatures 
were  arranging  themselves  in  order,  and  then  there  was  nothing 
but  a  more  ordered  hymn.  The  harmony  was  like  the  melting  of 
musical  dowdrops,  and  sang,  without  words,  of  sorrow  and  death. 
We  opened  our  eyes,  or  rather  sight  came  to  them  when  closed, 
and  dream  was  vision.  Hundreds  of  creatures,  no  taller  than  the 
crest  of  the  lapwing,  and  all  hanging  down  their  veiled  heads,  stood 
in  a  circle  on  a  green  plat  among  the  rocks ;  and  in  the  midst  was 
a  bier,  framed  as  it  seemed  of  flowers  unknown  to  the  Highland 
hills ;  and  on  the  bier  a  fairy  lying  with  uncovered  foce,  pale  as  a 
lilv,   and  motionless  as  the  snow.     The  dirge  srew   fainter  and 


LITKRAKY    AND   DOMEsTIC    LIFE.  403 

fiiintcr,  and  then  died  quite  away ;  Avhen  two  of  the  creatures  came 
froiu  the  circle,  and  took  their  station,  one  at  the  head,  the  other  at 
the  foot  of  the  bier.  They  sanj;  alternate  measures,  not  louder  than 
the  twittering  of  the  awakened  woodlark  before  it  goes  up  the 
dewy  air,  but  dolorous  and  full  of  the  desolation  of  death.  The 
flower-bier  stirred ;  for  the  spot  on  which  it  lay  sank  slowly  down, 
and  in  a  few  moments  the  greensward  was  smuoih  as  ever,  the  very 
dews  glitteruig  above  the  buried  fairy.  A  cloud  passed  over  the 
raoon ;  and,  with  a  choral  lament,  the  funeral  troop  sailed  duskily 
away,  heard  afar  off,  so  stiU  was  the  midnight  solitude  of  the  glen. 
Then  the  disenthi-alled  Orchy  began  to  rejoice  as  before,  through 
all  her  streams  and  falls ;  and  at  the  sudden  leaping  of  the  waters 
and  outbursting  of  the  moon,  we  awoke." 

I  know  not  what  the  custom  of  authors  is  Avith  regard  to  their 
own  works,  but  this  is  true,  that  Professor  Wilson  never  read  what 
he  wrote  after  it  was  published.  lie  never  spoke  of  himself  but 
with  the  greatest  humility.  If  egotism  he  possessed,  it  belonged 
entirely  to  the  playful  spirit  of  his  writings,  as  seen  in  the  lighter 
touches  of  the  "  Noctes."  It  was  this  humility  that  gave  so  great 
a  charm  to  his  graver  conversation ;  and  in  listening  to  him,  you 
felt  perfectly  convinced  that  truth  was  the  guiding  princijjle  of  all 
he  said.  There  was  no  desire  to  produce  an  impression  by  startling 
theories,  or  by  careless  off-hand  bits  of  brilliancy — the  glow  without 
heat.  Simple,  earnest,  eloquent,  and  vigorous,  his  opinion  carried 
the  weight  with  it  which  belongs  to  all  in  whom  implicit  confidence 
rests.  I  never  knew  any  one  the  truth  of  whose  nature,  at  a  glance, 
was  so  evident ;  not  a  shadow  of  dissemblance  ever  crossed  that 
manly  heart.  His  sympathies  are  best  understood  in  examples  of 
the  love  which  gentle  and  simple  bore  to  him. 

Fortunately,  one  of  the  few  letters  I  ever  received  from  him  has 
been  preserved.  It  brings  the  reader  to  1842,  when  it  will  show 
him  in  one  of  his  happiest  moods.  He  has  shaken  the  dust  of  the 
pavement  from  his  feet,  and  pitched  his  tent  for  the  time  being  on 
the  pastoral  slopes  of  a  retired  valley,  the  beautiful  boundary  of  the 
river  Esk,  renowned  in  story  for  the  adventures  of  "  Young  Locli- 
in\  ai-."  There,  in  the  spring  of  the  year,  he  rambled,  full  of  inter- 
est and  occupation,  not  angling,  or  loitering  through  day-dreams  by 
holm  or  shaw,  but  looking  on  with  approving  eye,  suggesting  autl 
ai  U,)g,  MS  circumstances   required,   in   the  appointment   of  a  new 


404:  MEMOm    OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

house  for  his  son  John,  who  had  just  entered  upon  the  pleasant, 
though  anxious,  toil  of  a  farmer's  life. 

As  the  sunnraer  advanced  I  was  to  join  him  there.  Meanwhile 
he  writes  a  description  of  the  locale.,  so  beautifully  minute  in  char- 
acter that  it  may  stand  as  a  daguerreotype  of  the  scene.  I  otfer  the 
letter  as  one  of  the  best  specimens  of  his  domestic  correspond- 
ence:— 

"  BiLLHOLM,   LaXGHOLH, 
Friday  Forenoon,  May  27,  1842. 

"My  dear  Maky  : — We  left  Linhope  on  "Wednesday,  dined  at 
the  farmer's  ordinary  in  Langholm,  and  came  to  Biliholm  in  the 
evening.  Yesterday  we  were  all  occupied  all  day  taking  stock  on 
the  hills — sixty  score ;  twelve  gentlemen  dined,  thirty-four  shep- 
herds and  herdsmen,  ten  horses,  and  twenty-five  dogs.  The  scene 
surpassed  description,  but  it  is  over.  Tiiis  morning  the  party  (with 
Biliholm  and  Menzion  at  their  head)  went  off  for  a  similar  purpose 
to  Craighope,  distant  some  ten  miles ;  and  Biliholm,  I  believe,  will 
return  with  Mr.  Scott  (the  outgoing  tenant)  in  the  evening.  Mean- 
while I  am  left  alone,  and  shall  send  this  and  some  other  letters  to 
Langholm  by  a  lad,  as  there  is  no  post.  That  is  inconvenient — 
very. 

"  In  a  day  or  two  we  shall  be  more  quiet,  but  you  can  have  no 
idea  of  the  bustle  and  importance  of  all  at  this  juncture,  nor  has 
John  an  hour  to  spare  for  any  purpose  out  of  his  own  individual 
concerns. 

"■  This  place  is,  beyond  doubt,  in  all  respects  sweet  and  serene, 
being  the  uppermost  farm  in  the  valley  of  the  Esk  before  it  becomes 
bare.  It  is  not  so  rich  or  wooded  as  a  few  miles  farther  down,  but 
is  not  treeless  ;  the  holms  or  haughs  are  cultivated  and  cheerful ; 
the  Esk  about  the  size  of  the  Tweed  at  the  Ci'ook,  and  the  hills  not 
so  high  as  the  highest  about  lunei'leithen,  but  elegantly  shaped, 
and  in  the  best  style  of  pastoral. 

"The  house  'shines  well  where  it  stands,'  on  a  bank  sloping 
down  to  the  river,  which  is  not  above  twenty  yards  from  the  dooi', 
so  Goliah*  has  nothing  to  do  but  walk  in  and  float  down  to  Lang- 
holm. But  after  Port  Bannatyne  he  is  safe  against  water.  It  fronts 
tlie  river  ;  many  pleasant  holms  in  the  middle  distance,  and  the 
aforesaid  hills  about  a  mile  off,  surrounding  the  horizon.     Sufficient 

*  One  of  Lis  grandchildren. 


Lri'EEARY    AND    DOMKSTIC    LIl'K.  405 

trees  up  and  down  the  banks;  but  the  view  in  front  oper.,  iV*'  <  s- 
posed.  The  house  was  originally  of  this  common  kind  :  do'.r  in 
the  middle,  window  on  each  side,  three  windows  above,  and  win- 
dowless  roof.  A  stone  portico,  since  erected,  takes  away  the  for- 
mality, and  breaks  the  blast.  Freestone,  neat  with  a  window,  good 
place  for  a  clock,  or  even  a  '  beetle.'  Entering  through  a  glass  door 
nito  the  passage,  to  the  left  is  the  drawing-room,  about  sixteen  feet 
square,  I  think,  though  I  have  not  measured  it  yet ;  one  window 
looking  to  the  front,  another  up  the  river  into  a  close  scene  pretty 
with  trees ;  a  most  pleasant  parlor. 

"To  the  right  is  the  parlor,  15  feet  by  12,  small  no  doubt,  but 
lodgeable  and  comfortable.  Up-stairs  (which  face  you  on  your 
entrance)  are  four  bedrooms,  all  comfortable ;  the  two  to  the  front 
excellent  and  lit  for  anybody ;  one  of  them  with  a  small  dressing- 
room  with  a  window.  I  forgot  to  say,  that  behind  the  drawing- 
r(;om  is  a  pretty  little  room  for  a  boudoir,  study,  or  bedroom.  All 
these  rooms  are  papered,  not,  perhaps,  as  we  would  have  papered 
them,  but  all  neat  and  tidy,  and  not  to  be  needlessly  found  fault 
with.  So  done  only  two  years  ago ;  so  is  the  passage  and  staii*- 
case.  An  addition  had  been  made  to  the  house  at  the  end  to  the 
right  hand  ;  and  on  the  ground  floor  is  the  dining-room,  into  which 
you  enter  through  the  aforesaid  parlor.  It  is,  I  believe,  18  feet  by 
IG.  One  window  looks  to  the  front,  and  one  into  a  grove  of  trees. 
It  is  oil-painted,  of  the  color  of  dark  brick-dust,  with  a  gilt  mould- 
ing; railier  ugly  at  first  sight,  but  I  am  trying  to  like  it,  and,  for 
the  present,  it  will  do.  Doors,  etc.,  of  all  the  rooms,  good  imitation 
of  oak. 

"Above  the  dining-room,  and  behind  it  overhead,  are  two  largish 
'•ooms,  very  low  in  the  roof,  communicating  with  one  of  the  best 
bedrooms  aforesaid,  and  used  formerly  as  nurseries. 

"  So  there  are,  in  fact,  seven  bedrooms. 

"There  is  a  good  kitchen  (fatally  to  me,  not  to  John)  near  the 
amiiig-room,  and  back  kitchen,  also  servants'  hall,  as  it  is  called,  or 
rather  butier's  pantry — a  very  comfortable  and  useful  place — and 
fitted  up  with  presses,  Avhich  John  bought.  There  is  a  woman- 
servant's  room,  with  two  beds;  ditto,  ditto,  man-servant's.  A 
storeroom — good  size — and  a  large  dark  closet,  fit  to  hold  the  six 
tin  canisters,  though  they  were  sixty,  and  other  things  besides. 
Behind  are  a  few  out-houses  in  rather  a  shaky  condition.     The 


4^)0  MEMOIR    OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

farm-oflfices  are  about  100  or  150  yards  from  tlie  house.  The  garden 
is  an  oblong,  containing,  I  should  think,  about  1^  acres.  One  end 
joins  the  house ;  one  side  is  walled,  and  the  farther  end ;  the  other 
side,  hedged  prettily,  and  with  many  lihics,  runs  along  the  banks 
of  the  river,  and  'tis  a  very  pretty  garden  indeed.  Fruit-trees 
rather  too  old,  and  gooseberry-bushes  too ;  but  the  latter  show  a 
pretty  good  crop,  and  I  counted  120  bushes.  There  are  also  cur- 
rants and  rasj)s,  and  a  promising  stra'.vberry  bed.  Every  thing  in 
it  will  be  late  this  season,  as  it  Avas  dressed  since  John  came  here, 
only  three  weeks  ago,  but  every  thing  is  growing.  The  furniture 
has  not  yet  made  its  appearance,  but  I  beheve  is  at  Langholm,  and 
I  shall  hear  about  it  by  return  of  my  messenger, 

"I  will  write  again  first  opportunity,  and  expect  to  be  at  home 
by  the  middle  of  the  week.  Observe  the  directions  in  my  last 
letter.  Love  to  Blair  and  Umbs,  Gordon  and  Goliah,  Lexy  and 
Adele,  Taglioni,  Mary  Anne,  and  the  rest. 

"  Your  affectionate  father,  John  Wilson." 

Almost  the  whole  of  this  summer  was  spent  at  Billholm.  The 
winter,  coming  again  with  its  usual  routine  of  work,  calls  him  to 
town  somewhere  about  October.  Li  December  his  fine  "  Roman 
hand"  strikes  fire  once  more  through  the  languid  ribs  of  "Maga," 
and  he  greets  with  good  heart  and  will  theXays  of  Aticient  Rome. 
No  a;77"ere  jt>e«s^e  of  political  differences  obtrudes  its  ill-concealed 
remembrance  through  his  words.  What  is  it  to  him  whether  it  be 
Whig  or  Tory  who  writes,  when  genius,  with  star-like  light, 
"flames  in  the  forehead  of  the  morning  sky?"  "What!  poelry 
from  Macaulay  ?  Ay,  and  why  not  ?  The  House  hushes  itself  to 
hear  him,  even  when  '  Stanley  is  the  cry.'  If  he  be  not  the  first  of 
critics  (spare  our  blushes),  who  is?  Name  the  young  poet  who 
could  have  written  The  Armada.,  and  kindled,  as  if  by  electricity, 
beacons  on  all  the  brows  of  England  till  night  grew  day  !  Tlie 
young  poets,  we  said,  all  want  fire.  Macaulay  is  not  one  of  the  set, 
for  he  is  full  of  fire." 

And  so  does  he  pi-oceed,  Avith  honest  words  of  praise,  to  the  etid, 
giving  M'hat  is  due  to  all.  More  of  his  treatment  of  this  n(^ble 
enemy  \v  another  plai-e. 

As  I  have  already  remarked,  there  was  nothing  wri'^ten  for 
Bhtclncood  during   the    years  1842-'44.     What   was   he   about? 


i 


LITERARY    AXD    DOMESTTC    LTFK 


407 


What  light  has  such  a  question  to  be  put?  Is  literature  worked 
as  if  on  a  tread-mill,  under  the  hand  of  a  task-master ;  or  is  the 
public  voice  never  to  cease  from  the  weary  cry  of  "  give,  give  ?'' 

The  contents  of  the  following  letter  to  Dr.  Moir  Avill  show  that 
he  was  not  absolutely  idle : — 

"Ith  Oct.,  1842. 

"  My  dear  Sir  : — I  have  lost  several  days  in  looking  over  till  I 
am  sick,  all  Blackwood.,  for  a  description  of  Christopher's  house  in 
Moray  Place.  It  is  somewhere  pictured  as  the  House  of  Indolence, 
and  with  some  elaboration,  as  I  once  heard  Horatio  ]Macculloch,  the 
painter,  talk  of  it  with  rapture.  I  wish  you  would  cast  over  in 
your  mind  where  the  description  may  be,  as  I  would  fain  put  it 
into  a  chapter  in  vol.  iii.  of '  Recreations'  now  printing.  Sometimes 
a  reader  remembers  what  a  writer  forgets.  It  is  not  in  a  'Noctes.' 
I  read  it  with  my  own  eyes  not  long  ago ;  but  I  am  ashamed  of 
myself  to  think  how  many  hours  (days)  I  have  wasted  in  wearily 
trying  to  recover  it.  Perhaps  it  may  recur  to  you  without  much 
effort  of  recollection.     Yours  affectionately, 

"JouN  Wilson." 


I 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

LITERARY     AND     DOMESTIC     LIFE. 

1844-48. 

We  now  come  to  February,  1844,  where  an  old  correspondent  ro 
appears,  whose  letters,  if  not  written  in  the  sunny  si)irit  of  bonJio- 
^mie,  have  a  pectdiar  excellence  of  their  own.  Never  did  graver's 
Itool  give  more  unmistakable  sharpness  to  his  lines,  than  the  pen  of 
John  Gibson  Lockhart  gave  to  his  words.  The  three  following  let- 
ters are  as  characteristic  of  his  satirical  power  as  any  of  those  off- 
hand caricatures  that  shred  his  best  friends  to  ])ieces,  leaving  the 
most  poetical  of  them  as  bereft  of  that  beautifying  property,  as  if 
ihey  had  been  born  utterly  without  it.  I  have  seen  various  portraits 
of  my  father  tVfjm  that  pencil,  each  bearing  the  grotesque  image  of  the 


408  MEMOIR   OF   JOHN   WILSON. 

artist's  fancy,  yet  all  undeniably  like.  So  was  it  his  humor,  nearly  to 
the  end,  to  look  upon  men  and  things  with  the  chilling  eye  of  the 
satirist. 

"25th  March,  1844. 

"My  dear  WiLSO^f: — I  have  spelt  out  your  letter  with  labor,* 
but  great  ultimate  contentment. 

"i^lexander  Blackwood  had  given  me,  by  yesterday's  post,  my 

first  information  touching  that  enormous  absurdity  of in  re 

Kemp  deceased,  and  I  answered  him,  expressing  my  deep  thankful- 
ness for  the  result  of  your  interference  ;  but  I  had  not  quite  under- 
stood with  how  much  difficulty  you  contended,  and  how  nearly  you 
were  alone  in  the  fight  against  eternal  desecration.     If  Kemp  had 

been  put  there, must  in  due  time  have  polluted  the  same  site  (2 

fceculentiore.  Of  the  other  suggestion  nipt  in  the  bud,  never  shall 
I  breathe  a  Avhisper  to  any  human  being.  For  some  time  I  have 
fancied  Scotland  must  be  all  mad  ;  I  never  see  a  Scotch  paper  with- 
out being  strengthened  in  that  conviction,  but  this  is  the  ^e^^/ws 
ultra  ! 

"I  have  not  read  any  novel  lately,  far  less  written  one.  I  do  not 
even  guess  to  what  new  book  you  allude  in  your  last  page.  You 
address  me  by  the  name  of  some  hero^  I  suppose,  but  that  is  unde- 
cipherable by  my  optics.  No  bamming  here.  Do  name  the  book. 
Is  this  your  sly  way  of  announcing  to  me  some  new  escapade  of  the 
long-haired  and  longish-headed  ? 

"  By  the  by,  Swinton  has  depicted  both  hair  and  head  with  very 
admirable  skill.  I  had  no  noiion  that  there  was  such  stuff  in  the 
lad.  He  will,  I  am  confident,  soon  be  on  a  par  here  with  Frank 
Grant,  who  is  clearing  £5,000  or  £6,000  per  annum.  I  like  the  C.  X. 
a  thousandfold  better  than  Lauder's,  and  hope  to  have  an  engraving 
of  it,  same  size,  very  speedily. 

"  I  showed  the  '  Poemata'f  some  weeks  ago  to  John  Blackwood, 
and  bade  him  send  you  a  copy.  Perhaps  to  me  you  owe  your 
knowledge,  therefore,  of  the  novel  epithet.  Horace,  however,  has 
'  teterrima  belli  causa'  and  I  rather  suspect  teterrima  carries  a  deli- 
cate double  entendre  in  that  classical  loc.  void.  cit. 

"You  have  not  read  the  title-page  correctly.     First,  the  book  Is 

♦  This  difficulty  arose  from  the  circumstance  of  his  correspondent  suffering,  as  has  been  tolfl, 
from  the  weakness  in  his  hand. 

+  Poe^mata  Lyrica.     Versa  Latina  lilmanU  ScHpta.    By  H.  D.  Ityder.    Simpkin,  Marsh 
and  Co. 


litki;aky  and  domestic  lifk 


4<>9 


published  by  Simpkin,  Marshall,  et  Co.  2d.  The  author  is  not 
Moore,  Bean  (to  whom  it  is  dedicated,  as  a  compliment  to  his  'zeal 
for  the  Apostolical  successiorr),  hit  11.  Ryder,  Canon  of  Lichfield, 
son  of  the  late  Bishop  of  Lichfield,  and  nephew  of  Lord  Harrowby. 
I  fancy  the  man  is  simply  mad  ;  if  not,  Lonsdale  must  handsel  his 
jurisdiction  by  overwhelming  a  scandal  not  inferior  to  the  other 
Fitz-Eveque  H.  Marsh's  in  re  Miord.  That  case,  by  the  by,  goes 
to  confirm  another  of  my  old  doctrines,  viz.,  that  the  Trial  by  Jury 
is  the  grossest  of  all  British  humbugs.  I  forget  if  it  is  Swift  or 
Scorpio  who  sang — 

"  '  Powers  Episcopal  we  know 
Must  from  some  apostle  flow; 
But  I'll  never  be  so  rude  as 
Ask  how  many  draw  from  Judas.' 

"  Here  is  another  fine  spring  day.  Why  don't  you  come  up  with 
Lord  Peter  for  a  week  or  two  ;  or  without  him  ?  The  Government 
is  in  a  tarnation  fix.  I  suspect  Ashley  has  got  very  wild,  poor  fellow 
— a  better  lives  not ;  and  that  we  shall  have  by  and  by  Jack  Cade 
in  right  earnest.  Gleig  is  chaplain-general  of  the  forces ;  keeping 
Chelsea  and  his  living  in  Kent  too.  *****  Ever  yours  affection- 
ately, J.  G.  L. 

"  Alone  and  dreary ;  both  my  young  away  from  me  ;  I  shall  soon 
be  left  entirely  alone  in  this  weary  world. 

"You  read  in  the  papers  about  Louis  Philippe  giving  Brougham 
a  piece  of  Gobelins  Tapestry,  but  they  did  not  mention  the  subject. 
It  is  a  very  ^nQ  picture  indeed — of  a  worrying-match  between  two 
dogs ! 

"  Now  I  went,  a  few  nights  ago,  to  a  large  dinner  at  Brougham's 
house,  and  on  entering  the  inner  room,  there  was  he  with  a  cane, 
holding  aside  the  curtains,  and  explaining  the  beauties  of  this  mas- 
terpiece to — Plain  John  !  ! 

"  Literal  truth  ;  but  absurder  than  any  fiction.  The  company 
seemed  in  agonies  of  diversion  at  the  unconsciousness  of  the  pair 
of  barons. 

"  That  week  both  H.  B.*  and  Punch  had  been  caricaturing  them 
as  the  Terriers  of  the  Times  disgracing  a  drawing-room ! 

"  All  true,  as  I  shall  answer,  etc." 

•  Mr.  John  T)oylc,  the  fnther  of  Richnrd  Boyle,  author  of  Brmon,  Jones,  and  Rohimion,  "  ig 
generally  bcliovod  to  be  the  nnthor  of  the  cclebnitod  H.  B.  political  sketches,  which  were  a  few 
17* 


■JIO  MI.MOIU    OF    JOHN    WILSON. 

There  are  one  or  two  allusions  in  this  letter  Avhich  may  require 
a  word  of  explanation. 

The  first  paragraph  refers  to  a  proposition  made  by  some  parties 
in  Edinburgh,  that  tlie  remains  of  Mr.  Kemp,  the  architeet  of  the 
Scott  monument,  should  have  interment  beneath  it,  he  having  come 
to  an  untimely  end  not  long  after  the  completion  of  his  design. 
Professor  Wilson  had  some  trouble  in  preventing  this  absurd  pro- 
ject being  carried  out.  In  the  second,  there  are  some  playful  re- 
marks about  a  novel ;  d  j^ro^yos  of  which  I  may  say,  that  novel- 
reading  was  a  mental  dissipation  my  father  seldom  indulged  in,  re- 
garding that  sort  of  literature,  in  general,  as  enervating  to  the  mind 
and  destructive  to  the  formation  of  good  taste.  Now  and  then  he 
was  prevailed  on  to  open  one,  when  recommended  as  very  good. 
Whitefriars  had  just  been  published;  he  was  delighted  with  it, 
and  sat  down,  on  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  to  congratulate  the 
author  (who  could  be  no  other  than  John  G.  Lockhart)  on  his  suc- 
cess ;  and  in  this  belief  he  addresses  him  by  the  title  of  his  hero.* 

This  letter  is  almost  immediately  followed  by  another: — 

"March  28,  1844. 

"•My  dear  Wilson: — It  is  not  easy  to  judge  of  the  merit  of 
an  architectural  design  until  one  (I  mean  an  ignoramus)  has  seen  it 
in  actual  stone.  I  thought  the  drawing  of  Scott's  monument  very 
good,  and  I  suppose,  from  what  is  now  executed,  you  can  form  a 
fair  opinion.  All  my  remaining  anxiety  is  that  the  statue  should  be 
in  hronze.  Marble  w^ill  last  very  few  years  before  you  see  the  work 
of  decay  on  the  surface.  Is  it  too  late  to  make  a  vigorous  effort  for 
this,  in  my  mind,  primary  object?  I  have  no  fear  about  inoney.  I 
met  .  .  .  yesterday  at  dinner  at  ...  ,  and  gave  her  your  love.  She 
is  a  fine  creature.  I  see  nothing  like  her,  and  were  I  either  young 
or  rich,  I  should  be  in  danger.  She  told  me  Brewster,  Chalmers, 
and  all  the  Frow  Kirk  are  going  to  start  a  new  Review.  IIovv 
many  Reviews  are  we  to  have  ?  Is  not  it  odd  that  the  old  ones  keep 
''oat  at  all  ?  but  I  doubt  if  they  have  lost  almost  any  thing  as  yet. 

le  Q.  li.  prints  nearly  10,000,  I  know,  if  not  quite.     Nor  have  I 

years  ago  so  rom:irkatily  popular,  and  which,  while  exhibiting  with  abundant  keenness  the  proaa. 
inent  features  and  peeuliarities  of  the  persons  caricatured,  wore  always  gentlemanly  in  feeling, 
and  free  from  anj'  appearance  of  malice.'" — Knishfs  Entjliith  Cyclopaedia. 
•  Whi^friaris  has  been  ascribed  to  Miss  E.  Kobinson. 


LITERAKY    AND    DOMKSTIC    LIFE.  411 

heard  that  Ebony  is  declining,  in  spite  of  these  Hoods  and  Ains- 
worths,  etc.,  etc. 

"...  showed  me  a  lot  of  Edinburgli  daguerreotypes — the  Cand- 
lishes,  etc. ;  that  of  Sir  D.  Brewster  is  by  far  the  best  specimen  of 
the  art  I  had  ever  seen.  It  is  so  good,  that  I  should  take  it  very 
kind  if  you  would  sit  to  the  man  wliom  Brewster  patronizesybr  me* 
I  should  like  also  to  have  Sheriff  Cay.  This  art  is  about  to  revolu- 
tionize book  illustration  entiiely. 

•'  There  is  very  great  uneasiness  here  about  this  ten  hours'  affair. 
I  really  exjject  to  see  the  Government  displaced  sooner  or  later  by 
this  coalition  of  Johnny  llussell  with  Ashley,  Oastler,  and  the  Times. 
•Your  old  friend.  Sir  James  Graham,  is  terribly  unpopular  with  both 
sides  of  the  House.  Yet  I  think  his  demeanor  in  private  society 
infinitely  more  agreeable  than  Peel's,  who,  somehow,  is  not  run  upon 
in  the  same  style  by  any  party.  Inglis  takes  kindly  to  the  name  of 
Jack  Cade.  AVe  shall  have  him  H.  B.'d,  of  course.  Ashley  speaks 
well,  he  has  a  fine  presence,  good  voice,  and  his  zeal  gives  liim  real 
eloquence  now  and  then ;  but  he  has  slender  talents,  and  his  head 
has  been  quite  turned  by  the  popularity  he  has  acquired.  I  seriously 
fear  he  will  go  mad.  He  lives  and  moves  in  an  atmosphere  of  fanat- 
icism, talks  quite  gravely  about  the  Jews  recovering  Jerusalem,  the 
Millennium  at  hand,  etc.,  etc. 

"  Brougham  goes  to  Paris  this  week  to  [inter  alia)  take  counsel 
with  Guizot  and  Dupin  about  a  great  humbug  (I  believe),  his  new 
Society  for  the  Amendment  of  the  Law ;  and,  learning  that  Lynd- 
hurst,  Deuman,  etc.,  approved,  I  agreed  to  be  a  member  on 
Brougham's  request,  and  went  to  a  meeting  yesterday,  where  he 
was  in  the  chair.     What  a  restless,  perturbed  spirit!  ***** 

"  Nothing  could  surprise  me  now-a-days.  The  Government  have 
allowed  B.  to  be  their  saviour  so  often  in  the  II.  of  Lords,  that  they 
may  by  and  by  find  it  impossible  to  refuse  him  even  the  Seals.  I 
am,  you  see,  idle,  and  in  gossiping  vein  this  morning,  having 
just  got  rid  of  a  d — d  thick  Quarterly,  I  fear,  a  dull  one.  Ever 
affectionately  yours,  J.  G.  Lockhakt." 

In  the  next  letter,  which  is  the  last  of  this  correspondence  that 
h:is  been  preserved,  it  will  be  seen  how  pain  and  inward  yearning 

*  My  llitlier  did  so,  and  the  frontispit-ce  to  the  i)rosent  Memoir  is  engraved  from  Mr.  Hill's 
juilo'  vjHi,  l)y  the  artist's  Icind  permission. 


412  MKMOIR    OF    .lUlIX    WILSON. 

for  things  gone  from  before  his  eyes  had  softened  a  stern  nature, 
brinfrinc:  it  throucrh  trials  which  left  him  a  sadder  and  a  wiser  man  : — 


"Fair  Lawx,  Tdn-bridge, 

Easter  Wedntsday,  1844. 

"  My  dear  "W"ilsox  : — I  bad  your  kind  letter  here  yesterday,  and 
the  resolutions  as  to  the  Scott  and  Kemp  affairs,  which  seem  to  me 
drawn  up  in  the  best  possible  taste,  not  a  Avord  to  giye  offence,  and 
much  yery  delicately  calculated  to  conciliate.  I  came  to  this  place 
a  week  ago,  utterly  done  up  in  body  and  mind ;  but  perfect  repose 
and  idleness,  with  cold  lamb  and  home-brewed  beer,  and  no  wine 
nor  excitement  of  any  sort,  haye  already  done  wonders,  and  in  fact 
conyinced  me  that  I  might  haye  health  again,  if  I  could  manage  to 
cut  London,  and  Quarterly  Reviews.  As  for  any  yery  liyely  interest 
in  this  life,  that  is  out  of  the  question  with  me  as  with  you,  and  from 
the  same  fatal  date,  though  I  struggled  against  it  for  a  while,  instead 
of  at  once  estimating  the  case  completely  as  I  think  you  did.  Let 
us  both  be  thankful  that  we  haye  children  not  unworthy  of  their 
mothers.  I  reproach  myself  when  the  sun  is  shining  on  their  young 
and  happy  faces,  as  well  as  on  the  yiolots  and  hyacinths  and  burst- 
ing leaves,  that  I  should  be  unable  to  aAvaken  more  than  a  dim  ghost- 
like semi-sympathy  with  them,  or  in  any  thing  present  or  to  come, 
but  so  it  is.  No  good,  however,  can  come  of  these  croakings.  Like 
you,  I  haye  no  plans  now — never.  "Walter  must  fag  hard  all  this 
summer  in  Essex  with  a  Pusej-ite  tutor,  if  he  is  to  go  to  Balliol  in 
October  with  any  advantage,  and  therefore  I  think  it  most  likely  I 
shall  not  stir  far  from  London.  *  *  *  * 

"****!  used  to  haye  a  real  friendship  for  the  water  of  Clyde 
and  some  half-dozen  of  its  tributary  Calders  and  Lethans,  familiar 
from  infancy ;  and,  most  of  all,  for  certain  burns  with  deep  rocky 
beds  and  cold  invisible  cascades.  As  it  is,  I  could  be  well  contented 
to  abide  for  the  rest  of  this  life  in  such  a  spot  as  this  same  Fairlawn 
— well  named.  It  is  a  large  ancient  house  built  round  a  monastic 
court,  with  a  good  park,  most  noble  beeches,  and  limes  and  oaks, 
looking  over  the  rich  vale  of  the  Medway,  with  a  tract  of  rough 
heath,  and  holt,  and  sand-hill,  lying  behind  it,  six  or  seven  miles  in 
length,  and  about  two  in  breadth.  This  was  the  original  seat  of  the 
Vanes ;  and  old  Sir  Harry  lies  buried  here  with  many  of  his  ances 
tors.     It  is  now  possessed  by  Miss  Yates,  cousin-german  to  Sir  Bi 


L-TtUA^If    AND    DOMESTIC    LITE.  413 

F'.'el,  iiii  excellent,  sensible,  most  kind  old  lady ;  stone  blind  from 
five  years  of  age,  and  otherwise  afflicted,  but  always  cheerful;  too 
high  a  Tory  to  admire  the  premier,  and,  inter  alia^oioXd  Sir  Robert's 
opinion  as  to  the  Children  question.  I  am  going  to-day  for  a  few 
days  to  another  house  in  this  neighborhood,  and  shall  be  in  London 
again  by  this  day  week. 

"  Sir  W.  Allan  writes  he  has  a  picture  of  Sir  W.  and  Anne  Scott 
for  the  Exhibition.  I  hope  rather  than  expect  to  be  pleased 
therewith. 

"  So  Abinger  exit.  He  wedded  a  spry  widow  who  had  been 
anxious  for  his  third  son  on  last  August ;  and  on  landing  at  Calais 
for  the  honey  trip,  put  herself  down  '  age  55  ;'  but  the  Fates  were 
not  to  be  gammoned,  nor  Lady  Venus  neither,  and  the  coffin- 
plate  will  tell  truly :  Ann.  -/Etat.  76.  I  suppose  Pollock  will  take 
the  place,  yet  it  is  not  impossible  that  II.  B.  may  fimcy  it,  and  if  he 
does,  it  might  not  be  easy  for  Peel  to  give  him  a  rebufl".  Ever  aflfec- 
tionateiy  yours,  J.  G.  L." 

Lockhart's  very  sorrows  are  a  contrast  to  those  of  his  friend. 
There  is  something  of  a  listless  bitterness  in  the  words,  "  I  should 
be  unable  to  awaken  more  than  a  dim  ghost-Uke  semi-symi)athy  with 
them,  or  in  any  thing  present  or  to  come."  He  is  stricken,  as  it 
were,  and  will  not  look  up.  But  my  father,  with  that  healthful  heart 
of  his,  that  joyous  nature  that  smiles  even  in  the  midst  of  tears,  had 
scarcely  yet  laid  aside  the  strong  enthusiasm  which  belonged  so  re- 
markably to  his  youth.  His  energies  are,  as  may  be  seen  from  the 
following  letter  to  his  son  John,  still  directed  to  the  "  Kemp  affiiir." 
The  subject  is  pleasantly  mingled  with  domestic  interests  concern- 
ing Billholm: — 

"6  Gloucester  Place,  Saturday,  6th,  1844. 

"  My  dear  John  : — On  looking  over  the  portfolio  of  prints,  I 
'thought  Harvey's  Covenanters,  Baptism,  and  Allan's  Burns  woi'th 
framing,  and  have  got  them  framed  in  same  style  with  Allan's 
Scott  in  the  dining-room.  These  three  make  a  trio,  with  Harvey 
in  the  middle,  which  will  hang,  I  think,  well  on  the  drawing-room 
A^all  opposite  the  front  window. 

"The  Polish  Exiles  will  hang,  I  think,  well  to  the  right  of  the 
door,  as  you  enter  the  drawing-room,  if  in  the  middle,  so  as  at  any 
time  to  allow  of  two  ap[)ropriate  pendants.     The  demure  Damsel 


414  MEMOIR   OF   JOHN    WHS.', v. 

mny  rango  with  Yictoria.  But  follow  youv  own  taste,  wLiuli  js  as 
good,  or  Letter  than  mine. 

"The  live  will  make  the  room  look  gay,  am]  tliey  leave  this  by 
the  wagon  on  the  8th  instant,  directed  to  be  left  at  Langholm  till 
called  for. 

"  I  close  my  session  on  Friday,  the  r2th,  or  perhaps  a  day  or  two 
sooner.  The  weather  here  is  fine,  and  I  trust  you  will  have  a  good 
lambing  season  in  spite  of  the  severities  since  you  left  us.  I  see 
prices  are  somewhat  better,  and  trust  this  year  may  be  considerably 
more  favorable  than  the  last  two.  My  own  motions  are  not  fixed 
for  the  future  ;  but  I  shall  not  leave  this  before  the  latter  end  of 
May  for  any  other  quarter.  Four  hundred  persons  were  assembled 
to  inter  Kemp  in  the  Scott  Monument.  I  heard  of  it  at  eleven 
o'clock;  saw  M'Xeill,  and  after  much  angry  discussion  with  a  dep- 
utation, stopped  the  funeral,  and  turned  it  into  the  West  Kirkyard. 
They  had  got  leave  from  .  .  .  and  some  other  fools,  and  had  kept 
the  public  ignorant  of  the  proceedings.  Very  general  approbation 
of  our  interference  is  not  unmixed  with  savage  or  sulky  exaspera- 
tion among  the  ten-pounders  who  stood  up  for  their  order.  It 
would  have  been  a  vulgar  outrage.  Next  day's  Witness  was  inso- 
lent, but  since,  there  has  been  a  calm  sough.  The  general  commit- 
tee have  since  passed  resolutions  approving  our  conduct.  We 
passed  them  ourselves,  and  I  moved  them  in  a  strong  speech,  to 
which  there  was  no  reply. 

"  A  Professor  of  Music  was  to  be  chosen  on  Saturday,  the  3d 
March.  We  were  all  met ;  but  neither  party  could  tell  how  it 
might  go,  as  there  were  two  doubtful  votes.  The  Bennettites 
boldly  moved,  on  false  and  foolish  pretence  of  giving  time  to  a 
new  candidate  named  Pearson,  to  postpone  the  election  till  the  1st 
of  June  ;  and  this  motion  was  carried  bi/  one.  They  hope  some- 
thing may  occur  before  then,  to  give  Bennett  a  better  chance  ;  and 
they  expect  to  have  the  vote  of  the  Chemical  Professor,  who  is  to 
be  elected  in  a  few  weeks,  which  may  turn  the  scales.  .  .  .  We  are 
all  well,  and  ^Mary  will  visit  you  soon.  I  leave  Blair,  who  is  well, 
to  speak  for  his  own  motions.  He  has  been  talking  of  going  to 
Biilholm  for  some  days  past.  With  love  from  all  here  and  in  Carl 
ton  Street — I  am,  your  affectionate  father,  J.  Wilsox." 

Soon  after  this    h'imc-loving  spirit   has   assi-tod   in   making  the 


LITEEAKY    AND   DOMliSTlU    LIFE.  415 

pretty  pastoral  farm  "look  gay,"  we  find  him  in  the  full  energy  of 
his  ardent  nature,  awakening  the  sympathies  of  all  around  him  on 
a  subject  that  moved  the  whole  Scottish  nation  as  witli  one  lieart, 
and  ultimately  brouglit  a  stream  of  sympathetic  souls  together  to 
the  banks  of  Doon,  till  it  seemed  as  if  all  Scotland  had  poured  it8 
life  there  to  do  honor  to  the  memory  of  Burns. 

The  Burns  Festival  was  an  occasion  fitted  to  call  forth  the  zeal 
of  Wilson's  nature,  and  he  Avorked  heart  and  soul  in  the  cause,  with 
vigor  little  less  than  that  which  impelled  him,  in  "  his  bright  and 
shining  youth,"  to  walk  seventy  miles  to  be  pi'esent  at  a  Burns  meet- 
ing, which  he  "electrified  with  a  new  and  peculiar  fervor  of  elo- 
quence, such  as  had  never  been  heard  before."*  We  have  three 
letters  relative  to  this  great  gathering;  one  is  addressed  to  his  son- 
in-law,  Mr.  Gordon,  before  it  took  place,  with  a  view  to  arranging 
the  toasts  : — 

"  Mt  dear  Sheriff  : — The  toasts  now  stand  well,  and  we  shall 
not  try  to  improve  the  arrangement.  What  you  say  about  the  poor 
dear  Shepherd  is,  I  fear,  true,  though  his  fame  will  endure.  Nei- 
ther will  his  memory  have  to  come  in  till  after  Scott  and  Campbell; 
and  we  all  know,  that  even  on  a  generally  j^opular  theme,  it  is  very 
difficult  to  secure  attention  and  interest  far  on  in  the  '  Course  of 
Time.'  Perhaps  the  memory  of  the  Shepherd  cannot  be  given  at 
all,  for  if  some  prosing  driveller,  without  name  or  influence,  were 
to  give  it,  it  would  not  do  at  all.  If  so,  I  shall  speak  of  him  during 
what  I  say  of  Burns.  Will  that  do  ?  I  desire  to  have  your  opinion 
of  this  ;  for  if  you  think  it  would  not  do,  I  shall  look  about  for  a 
proper  person  to  give  his  memory  after  Alison  has  spoken.  William 
Aytoun  ?  What  should  follow?  'The  Peasantry,'  etc.  That  toast 
I  recommended  to  Mr,  Ballantine,  and  we  leave  it  in  his  hands,  or 
any  one  he  may  select  to  do  it  for  him.  If  the  Justice-General  or 
Lord  Advocate  were  to  give  '  Lord  Eglinton'  in  a  few  sentences,  it 

*  t)f  the  Professor's  walking  feats  I  have  not  been  able  to  gather  many  authentic  anecdotes. 
Mr.  Aird  mentioned  the  fact  quoted  here  in  his  speech  at  the  Burns  Festival,  and  my  brother 
writes  nic  on  the  subject : — '•  I  have  often  hei\rd  him  mention  the  followinsr.  He  once  walked 
forty  miles  in  eifrht  hours,  but  when  or  where  he  did  it  I  cannot  recollect  On  another  occasion 
he  walked  from  Liveriiool  to  Klleray,  within  the  four  and  twenty  hours.  I  do  not  know  what 
the  distance  is,  but  think  it  most  be  somewhere  about  eighty  miles.  You  are  correct  about  his 
walking  from  Kelso  to  Edinburgh — forty  miles,  to  attend  a  public  dinner.  It  was  in  1S2'2,  when 
the  King  was  there.  Once,  when  disappointed  in  getting  a  place  in  the  mail  from  Penrith  to 
Kemlal.  he  gave  his  coat  to  the  driver,  set  ott  on  fool,  reached  Keiidal  some  time  before  thu 
Coach,  and  then  trudged  on  to  Klleray." 


410  MKMOIK   OF   .)OllS    WILSON. 

would  do  well.  But  such  least  is  not  nect-'ssary ;  for  the  names 
might  be  merely  mentioned,  and  the  tlianks  carried  by  acclamatit>n. 
So  with  all  others.  These  toasts  might  be  set  down  and  assigned, 
and  given  as  circumstances  may  permit. 

"  I  shall  write  to  Ballantiue  to  that  effect,  subject  to  any  altera- 
tions ;  and  there  is  no  need  to  print  the  toasts,  etc.,  tunes,  etc.,  till  all 
is  fixed,  a  tew  da^-s  before  the  6th  ;  vice-chairman,  stewards,  etc.,  as 
no  man  of  course  would,  on  such  an  occasion,  speak  of  himself,  the 
place  assigned  him,  whatever  that  may  be,  speaking  for  itself 

"Finally,  we  propose  'The  Provost  and  Magistrates  of  Ayr  and 
other  Burghs,'  and  '  The  Ladies,'  of  course,  with  shouts  of  love  and 
delight.     And  so  finis." 

The  next  letter  is  from  Sergeant  Talfourd,*  whom  he  had  invited 
to  join  the  meeting  at  Ayr : — 

"Oxford,  July  14,  ISl-i. 

"  My  deae  Sir  : — Your  very  kind  letter  respecting  the  festival 
on  the  banks  of  the  Doon  has  reached  me  at  this  city,  where  I  am 
on  the  circuit ;  and  if  it  were  possible  for  me  to  meet  the  wish  it  so 
cordially  expresses,  I  should  at  once  recall  the  answer  I  felt  com- 
pelled to  give  to  the  invitation  of  the  committee,  and  look  forward 
with  delight  to  sharing  in  the  enjoyments  of  the  time.  When, 
however,  I  tell  you  the  sad  truth,  that  on  the  6th  August  we  {i.e., 
the  Circuit)  shall  be  at  Shrewsbury,  and  on  the  7th  shall  turn  south- 
ward to  Hereford,  so  that  it  will  be  impossible  for  me  to  be  in  Scot- 
land on  the  6th  by  the  utmost  exertion,  and  all  the  aid  of  steamboats 
and  railways,  without  entirely  absenting  myself  from  both  the 
Shrewsbury  and  the  Hereford  Assizes,  and  causing  serious  incon- 
A'enience  to  many,  besides  the  loss  to  myself,  I  am  sure  you  will 
sympathize  with  the  conviction  I  have  reluctantly  adopted,  that  / 
cannot  be  with  you  at  your  most  interesting  meeting.  Our  long 
circuit,  which  is  this  year  somewhat  later  than  usual,  in  consequence 
of  the  Irish  Writ  of  Error,  will  not  close  before  the  22d  or  23d 
August,  when  I  hope  to  take  my  family  to  the  country  you  know 
so  well  in  the  neighborhood  of  Windermere,  where  Mr.  Words- 
worth has  taken  a  cottage  for  us  for  the  holidays.  If  your  festiv:il 
had,  happily  for  me,  occurred  while  I  was  there  at  liberty,  I  should 
have  embraced,  with  pleasure  I  cannot  express,  the  opportunity  of 

*  S  ii  Thuuiii&  Nuun  Talfourd  died  in  tbc  di:>ch:in;e  of  Ui&  n>rofessional  duties  at  the  Assizes,  1S54. 


LITER  A  KY    AND    DOMESTIC    LITE.  417 

meeting  you  under  circumstances  so  original  as  the  celebration  of 
one  of  the  truest  poets  who  ever  lived,  and  of  beholding  his  genius 
by  the  light  of  yours,  and  then  I  might  perhaps  have  hoped  to  in- 
duce our  great  living  poet  to  accompany  me.  But  I  am  tantalizing 
myself  by  fancying  impossibilities,  and  can  only  ho[)e  that  Words- 
worth may  grace  your  festival,  and  that  all  happiness  may  attend 
it,  and  you  and  yours. 

"  Believe  me  to  remain,  my  dear  sir,  most  truly  and  respectfully 
yours,  T.  N.  Talfoukd." 

The  last  from  the  Professor  to  Aird  is  characteristic  of  that  gen- 
tle courtesy  which  the  chivalry  of  his  nature  ever  showed  to  woman. 
Such  traits  of  kindliness  may  seem  almost  too  trifling  to  draw  at- 
tention to,  but  they  are  unfortunately  not  so  common  in  the  routine 
of  intercourse  Avith  our  fellow-creatures  as  could  be  wished  : — 

"  Edinborgh,  Saturday  Eceniiig, 
August  11  th,  1844. 

"  My  dear  Mr,  Aird  : — I  looked  about  for  you  in  all  directions, 
but  could  not  see  you  on  the  field  or  in  the  Pavilion.  I  wished 
most  to  have  had  you  on  the  platform,  as  the  procession  passed  by 
before  the  Adelphi.     It  was  very  ati'ecting. 

"  I  told  the  .Committee  a  week  or  two  before  the  Festival,  to  invite 
Mrs.  Thomson  (Jessie  Lewars),  and  no  doubt  they  did  so.  But  I 
could  get  no  information  about  her  being  there  from  anybody,  so 
did  not  allude  to  her  in  what  I  said,  lest  she  might  not  be  present. 

"I  spoke  to  a  lady  in  the  Aulds'  cottage,  thinking  she  was  Mrs. 
Begg,  but  she  told  me  siie  was  not;  giving  me  her  name,  which  I 
did  not  catch.  Perhaps  she  was  Mrs.  Thomson  ?  I  wish  you  would 
inquire,  and,  if  so,  tell  her  that  I  did  not  hear  the  name ;  for,  if  it 
was  she,  I  must  have  seemed  wanting  in  kindness  of  manner.  I  saw 
it  stated  in  a  newspaper  that  she  was  seated  in  the  Pavilion  with 
Mrs.  Begg.  I  wished  I  had  known  that — if  it  was  so;  but  nobody 
on  the  morning  of  the  Festival  seemed  to  know  any  thing,  and  Mr. 
Auld  in  his  cottage  naturally  enough  was  so  carried,  that  he  moved 
about  in  all  directions  with  ears  inaccessible  to  human  speech. 

"A  confounded  bag})ipe  and  a  horrid  drum  drove  a  quarter  of  an 
hour's  words  out  of  my  mind,  or  rather  necessitated  a  close,  leaving 
out  a  good  deal  to  balance  what  I  did  say. 


418  MEMOra    OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

"I  intend  publishinir  my  address  in  Blackwood's  next  number, 
properly  corrected,  along  with  all  the  others ;  and,  if  you  can  ^nd 
a  place  lor  it  in  the  Herald^  I  wisli  you  would,  for  I  wish  the  ]>eo- 
ple  in  the  country  to  see  it,  if  they  choose,  in  right  form.  8i)eakers 
are  at  the  mercy  of  tlie  first  reporter,  and  at  the  mercy  of  circum- 
stances. 

"  I  am  not  without  hopes  of  seeing  you  at  Dumfries  this  month-  - 
or  early  next.     'Twas  a  glorious  gathering.     Yours  affectionately, 

"Joiix  Wilson." 

My  father  was  always  glad  to  escape  from  Edinburgh  during  the 
summer,  but  latterly  he  required  other  inducement  than  the  "rod" 
to  take  him  from  home  ;  a  solitary  "cast"  was  losing  its  charm,  and 
he  now  liked  to  find  companions  to  saunter  with  him  by  loch  and 
stream.  This  sunmier  his  old  friend,  Dr.  Blair,  had  been  visiting 
him,  and  was  easily  prevailed  on  to  take  a  ramble  to  the  Dochart 
before  returning  south.  The  following  letter  to  his  daughter  Jane 
(Umbs  or  "Crumbs"),  tells  of  his  own  sport  and  of  the  Wizai'cVs 
"walks  : — 

"LuiB,  Sunday,  June  1,  184  j. 

"Dear  Ckumbs  : — We  arrived  at  Luib  (pronounced  Libe)  on  the 
Dochart,  foot  of  Benmore,  on  Tuesday  afternoon  at  three  o'clock, 
via  Loch  Lomond  and  Glenfalloch.  We  soon  found  ourselves  en- 
sconced in  a  snug  parlor  looking  into  a  pretty  garden,  and  in  every 
way  comfortable.  Our  bedroom  is  double-bedded — small ;  but  such 
beds  I  have  not  slept  in  for  one  hundred  years.  Since  our  anival 
till  this  hour  there  has  not  been  above  twenty  drops  of  rain,  and 
the  river  (the  Dochart)  has  not  been  known  so  low  by  the  oldest 
inhabitant,  who  is  the  landlord — aged  eighty -five — deaf  and  lame — 
but  hearty  and  jwear^.  Wednesday,  Thursday,  Friday,  and  Satur- 
day, after  breakfast,  I  talked  tJiree  miles  up  the  river,  Avhich  flows 
past  the  inn,  and  fished  down,  killing  each  day  with  midges  about 
three  dozen  good  trout,  like  herrings,  of  course,  and  about  ten 
dozen  of  fry — a  few  of  about  a  pound;  none  larger.  The  natives 
are  astonished  at  my  skill,  as  in  such  weather  fish  were  never  caught 
before.  The  Wizard*  disappears  in  the  morning,  and  returns  to 
dinner  about  six.  On  Thursday  he  left  Luib  about  nine,  and  re- 
turned at  half-past  seven,  having  been  over  a  range  of  mountains 

*  Dr.  Alexander  Blair. 


LITERARY    AND    DOMESTIC    LIFE.  419 

anti  back  afjaiii,  ceitaiiily  two  tliousand  feet  liigli.  I>nt  on  Friday 
he  was  macli  fatigued  and  kept  to  the  valley,  and  even  yesterday 
lie  had  not  recovered  from  his  fatigue.  With  respect  to  myself,  I 
am  always  knocked  up  at  night,  and  fresh  in  the  morning.  I  made 
right  down  the  middle  of  the  river  among  huge  rocks  and  stones, 
avoiding  all  the  pools  twenty  feet  deep,  of  which  there  are  hun- 
dreds, many  places  utterly  dried  up,  otiiers  not  a  foot  deep.  In 
flood  or  rains  it  must  be  a  most  tremendous  river.  On  Monday  I 
think  of  going  to  Loch  Narget  (Maragan  ?),  about  eight  miles  over 
the  hills,  but  only  if  windy  and  cloudy. 

"  On  tlie  whole,  this  is  the  pleasantest  inn  I  ever  was  at,  and  the 
station  in  all  respects  delightful.  The  Wizard  takes  a  gill  of  icJiis- 
key  daily.  I  have  given  up  all  hopes  of  rain,  and  intend  staying 
here  a  few  days  longer.     We  shall  be  at  Cladich  on  Thursday." 

"  Port  Sonachax,  June  9. 

"My  dear  Umbs:— We  left  Luib  on  Thursday,  the  5tli  instant, 
and  reached  Cladich  at  half-past  seven.  No  Williams,  nor  room 
for  ourselves,  so  we  proceeded  three  miles  to  Port  Sonachan,  where 
Ave  have  been  ever  since.  Friday  was  a  day  of  storm,  and  no  fish- 
ing. Having  allowed  my  boat  to  drift  a  few  miles  to  leeward,  it 
took  two  boatmen  three  hours  to  bring  me  back  to  port,  during 
which  time  it  rained  incessantly,  and  was  bitter  cold.  I  sufiered 
much,  and  was  in  fits  on  Saturday.  The  fishing  was  bad,  and  I 
only  killed  nine ;  but  one  was  a  noble  fellow,  upwards  of  two  pounds. 
On  Monday  kept  the  house  all  day.  To-day  fished  eight  miles  down 
the  lake  to  Castle  Ardchonnel,  a  very  fine  old  ruin  on  an  island, 
which  I  had  never  seen  before ;  landed  and  dined  in  the  castle  with 
Archy  and  Sandy,  time  from  three  to  four  o'clock ;  wound  up  ami 
returned  before  the  Avind,  homeward-bound  ;  beheld  the  Wizard  on 
a  point  of  the  loch,  and  took  him  in  ;  reached  Fort  Sonachan  before 
seven,  and  dined  sumptuously.  Angling  had  been  admirable ;  sixty- 
one  trout  crannned  into  the  basket,  Avliich  could  not  have  held 
another.  Of  these,  thirty  were  from  one-half  to  three-quarters  and 
one  pound  each  ;  the  rest  not  small ;  they  covered  two  large  tea- 
trays.  It  reminded  me  of  the  angling  thirty  and  thirty-five  years 
ago.     The  natives,  especially  Archy,  were  astonished. 

"  I  understood  the  Wizard  wrote  to  Blair  yesterday ;  he  enjoys 
riiniself  much.  an<l  walks  about  from  morning  to  nijjht." 


420  MEMOIK   or    JOHN    WILSON. 

We  shall  now  fullow  him  through  a  small  portion  of  the  year 
1845,  when  ho  appears  to  have  resumed  his  work  with  steady  pur- 
pose, as  may  be  seen  by  looking  at  the  ^lagazine  for  seven  consecu- 
tive months.  North's  Specimens  of  the ''British  Critics"  make  a 
noble  contribution  to  that  periodical.  Those  papers,  along  with 
too  many  of  equal  power  and  gi'eater  interest,  have  found  jealou<? 
protection  within  the  ceinture  of  its  pages,  and  seem  destined  to  a 
flue  which  ought  only  to  belong  to  the  meagre  works  of  mediocrity- 
The  eighth  number  of  "British  Critics"  was  written  at  EUeray, 
whither  he  had  gone  for  a  few  weeks,  tempted  by  a  beautiful  sum- 
mer, and  the  natural  longing  of  his  heart  to  ro.ara  about  a  place  lull 
of  so  many  images,  pleasant  and  sad,  of  the  past.  The  following 
note  to  Mr.  Gordon  refers  to  this  article : 

"Ellerat,  VTtdnesdmj. 

"  ]N[y  dear  Gordox  : — I  am  confidently  looking  for  best  accounts 
of  dear  Mary  every  day. 

"Pray,  attend!  I  have  sent  a  long  article  to  Blackwood — 'No. 
VIU.  on  Critics,' — about  3IacFlecnoe,  but  chiefly  the  'Dunciad.'  It 
will  be  very  long — far  longer  than  I  had  anticipated,  or  he  may 
wish.  It  cannot  be  sent  here  for  correction,  and  I  wish  much  you 
would  edit  it. 

"Blackwood  will  give  it  to  you  when  set  up — and  I  hope  cor- 
rected in  some  measure  by  the  printer — along  with  the  MS. ;  and 
perhaps  on  Tuesday  you  may  be  able  to  go  over  it  all,  and  prevent 
abuses  beyond  patience.  I  will  trust  to  you.  I  also  give  you  power 
to  leave  some  out^  if  absolutely  necessary.  Don't  let  it  be  less 
than  thirty-two  pages — if  the  MS.  requires  more.  In  short,  I  wish 
the  article  in  this  number,  and  all  in  if  possible.  If  not,  I  leave 
omission  to  your  discretion ;  but  read  it  all  over  carefully  first,  that 
you  mny  not  leave  out  something  referring  to  something  remaining 
in.     '  We  ship  ou  the  24th.'     Yours  ever,  iu  haste  for  post, 

"J.  W." 

In  the  same  year  (184'7),  when  the  Philosophical  Institution  was 
established  in  Eldinburgh,  he  was  elected  its  first  President,  and 
delivered  the  opening  address.  To  this  honorable  ofiice  he  was  re- 
elected by  the  members  every  year  as  long  as  he  lived. 

We  have  now  come  to  a  longer  blank,  relieved  by  no  letter,  by 
no  work.     From  the  autumn  of  1845  till  that  of  1848  the^-e  is  noth« 


LITERARY    AND    DOMESTIC    LITE.  l21 

ing  but  silence.  Alas !  this  was  but  the  beginning  of  the  end.  Ten 
years  ago,  while  yet  strong  in  body,  though  suffering  and  sad  of 
heart,  the  melancholy  of  his  mind  gave  a  similar  tone  to  his  words, 
and  he  wrote  of  himself  as  if  his  days  were  being  consumed  swifter 
than  a  weaver's  shuttle : — "  Day  after  day  we  feel  more  and  more 
sadly  that  we  are  of  the  dust,  and  that  we  are  obeying  its  doom. 
This  life  is  felt  to  bo  slowly — too  swiftly  wheeling  away  with  us 
down  a  dim  acclivity — man  knoweth  not  into  what  abyss.  And  as 
the  shows  of  this  world  keep  receding  to  our  backward  gaze,  on 
which  gathers  now  the  gloom,  and  now  the  glimmer,  of  this  world, 
hardly  would  they  seem  to  be,  did  not  memories  arise  that  are  re- 
alities, and  some  so  holy  in  their  sadness  that  they  grow  into  hopes, 
and  give  assurance  of  the  skies." 

With  thoughts  such  as  these  ever  springing  from  the  pure  region 
of  his  soul,  did  he  go  on  meeting  the  common  day  with  hope  bright- 
ened into  cheerfulness,  until  existence  was  beautified  once  more  by 
the  conviction  that  duties  were  still  before  him — though  one  was 
gone  whose  approving  smile  had  given  impetus  to  all  he  did. 

The  first  break  to  this  silence  comes  in  a  short  letter,  written  to 
his  old  friend  Mr.  Findlay,  inviting  him  to  be  present  at  the  marriage 
of  his  son  John,  which  took  place  in  July,  1848.  This  relation  was 
one  conducive  to  his  happiness — a  fresh  tie  to  keep  him  hale  and 
strong  of  heart — making  the  summer  visits  to  Billholm  all  the  more 
agreeable  by  a  welcome  from  its  new  occupant,  whose  gentle  com- 
panionship often  cheered  his  rambles  by  the  river  side,  or  made 
pleasant  a  rest  beneath  the  shade  of  its  trees  : — 

"  FriJny,  June  !),  1848. 

"My  dear  Robert: — My  son  John  is  to  be  married  on  the  22d 
of  this  month,  at  the  house  of  his  father-in-law,  Mr.  G.  Bell,  4.3 
]M(!lville  Street.  We  are  sorry  not  to  have  beds  to  offer  our 
friends,  and  a  journey  to  and  from  Edinburgh  may  not  be  conve- 
nient to  you  at  this  time ;  but  if  you,  your  good  lady,  and  one  of 
your  dear  daughters,  can  assist  at  the  ceremony  (twelve  o'clock)  I 
ueed  not  say  how  welcome  will  be  your  presence,  and  that  we  shall 
hope  to  see  you  after  it  at  Glo'ster  Place. 

"  Ever  affectionately  yours,  J.  Wilson." 

It  may  be  seen  from  a  letter  to  his  son  Blair,  that  he  had  lost  no 
time  in  paying  a  visit  to  the  newly-married  pair;  for  he  writes  from 


422  MEMOIR   OF   JOIIX    WILSON. 

their  home  on  the  28th  September,  1S48,  having  taken  a  peep  of 
the  pastoral  hills  on  his  way  from  E.leray,  where  he  had  been  in  the 
earlier  part  of  the  season.  His  letter  speaks  of  domestic  matters 
only ;  but  it  is  easy  to  see  a  change  in  his  spirit,  and  that  he  clings 
more  and  more  to  the  circle  of  young  Uves  around  him.  LoneUness, 
as  time  crept  on,  was  a  feeling  that  easily  affected  him,  so  much  so, 
that  sometimes  on  his  return  from  the  College,  if  he  found  no  one 
in  the  house,  he  would  turn  from  the  door,  and  retrace  his  steps 
through  the  streets,  until  he  met  with  his  daughter,  or  some  of  his 
little  grandchildren ;  then  all  was  right,  and  a  walk  witli  them 
restored  him  to  his  wonted  spirits.  How  sadly  comes  the  confes- 
sion from  his  lips  of  the  dreariness  which  fell  upon  him  at  Elleray, 
a  place  at  one  time  enjoyable  as  paradise,  but  where  now  he  could 
not  rest,  as  these  touching  words  tell :  "  I  have  resolved  not  to 
return  to  Elleray,  as  I  should  not  be  able  to  be  there  if  you  had  left 
it.  I  slept  at  Bowness  the  tifth  night  after  my  return  to  Elleray 
from  tfoUow  Oak;  the  silence  and  loneliness  of  myself  at  night  not 
being  to  be  borne,  though  during  the  day  I  was  tranquil  enough." 
He  makes  allusion  to  his  hand,  "  it  is  very  poorly,"  and  so  indeed 
it  was,  for  he  had  been  unable  to  use  it,  saving  with  difficulty,  for 
nearly  three  years.  This  weakness  annoyed  him  very  much,  not 
more  than  was  natural,  if  it  appeared  to  him  to  be  the  commence- 
ment of  a  greater  evil — that  fatal  breaking  up,  which  saps  the 
strength,  and  brings  age  before  its  time. 

His  accustomed  work  goes  on,  but  by  fits  and  starts,  according 
to  his  bodily  vigor.  This  autumn  only  one  paper  was  written  for 
Blackwood.,  upon  Byron's  "  Address  to  the  Ocean,"  one  of  those 
beautiful  critiques  which  go  so  deeply  into  the  true  principles  of 
poetry.  Its  sevc?rity  may  startle  at  first,  but  can  hardly  fail  to  be 
acknowledged  as  just. 

His  whule  heart  and  soul  were  in  poetry,  and  he  threw  out  from 
the  intensity  of  that  feeling  a  hundred  little  side-lights,  that  sparkled 
and  danced  on  and  about  the  commonest  things  in  nature,  till,  like 
a  long-continued  sunbeam,  they  lengthened  and  deepened  into  a 
broad  light,  the  happiest,  the  most  joyous  in  the  world,  radiant  with 
fun,  careering,  playing  the  strangest  pranks,  showing  at  last,  in 
shape  unmistakable,  that  enviable  property  which  cannot  by  any 
skill  in  the  world  be  planted  in  a  nature  that  has  it  not  from  its 
cradle.     I  do  not  a";ree  with  those  who  hold  that  humor  is  the  best 


LITEIIARY    AND   DOMESTIC    LIFE.  423 

part  of  human  nature,  and  that  the  whole  meaning  of  a  man's 
character  may  be  traced  to  his  humor.  But  it  is  an  element  coming 
and  going,  with  other  qualities,  with  all  that  composes  the  inner 
spirit;  often,  it  is  true,  in  abeyance,  but  never  crushed;  always 
asseithig  its  rights,  not  uiifrequently  with  an  incongruity  which,  in 
its  unexpected  intrusion,  does  not  rob  it  of  charm,  but  rather  adds 
to  its  power. 

Wilson's  liumor  has  been  described  as  being  sometimes  too  broad  ; 
perhaps,  in  the  "  Noctes,"  he  occasionally  makes  use  of  an  impasto 
laid  on  a  little  too  roughly.  But  who  ever  enjoyed  his  conversa- 
tion at  home  or  abroad,  among  the  woods  and  wilds  of  nature,  or 
on  the  busy  streets  of  Edinbuigh,  that  was  not  as  often  overpow- 
ered by  his  humor  as  by  his  wit,  Ijy  his  wisdom  as  by  his  eloquence  ? 
His  manner  in  mixing  the  talk  with  the  walk  was  peculiar.  He 
took  several  steps  alongside  of  you,  conducting  you  on  to  the 
essential  point,  then,  when  he  liad  reached  that,  he  stopped,  "  right- 
about faced,"  stood  in  front  of  you,  looking  full  at  you,  and  deliv- 
ered the  conclusion,  then  released  }  ou  from  the  stop  you  were  force<l 
to  make,  walked  on  a  few  paces,  and  turned  in  the  same  manner 
again. 

Latterly,  a  walk  to  the  College  was  rather  too  much  for  him,  and 
he  generally  took  a  cab  from  George  Street.  This  in  time  became 
his  habit,  and  gave  rise  occasionally  to  the  most  riotous  behavior 
among  the  cab-drivers,  who  used  to  be  on  the  look-out  for  his  ap- 
proach, all  desirous  of  driving  him.  The  moment  that  well-known 
figure  was  seen,  an  uproar  began.  Ilis  appearance  and  dress  were 
too  peculiar  not  to  be  recognized  a  good  Avay  off,  for  no  one  wore 
a  hat  with  so  broad  a  brim,  covered  with  such  a  deep  crape,  his 
long  hair  flowing  carelessly  about  his  neck,  and  his  black  coat  but- 
toned across  his  chest,  now  somewhat  portly.  Still,  despite  in- 
creasing infirmity,  his  step  was  free,  and  he  looked  leonire  in 
strength  and  bearing.  So  did  he  when  he  sat  for  his  photograph 
to  Mr.  D.  O.  Hill,  an  engraving  from  which  is  prefixed  to  this 
work.  In  this  product  of  that  wonderful  art,  then  in  its  infancy, 
comes  out  the  character  of  the  man;  the  block,  as  it  were,  from 
nature,  not  softened  down  or  refined  away  by  that  delicacy  whith 
so  often  makes  portrait-painting  insensate,  but  great  in  its  original 
strength;  with  a  something,  jierhaps  more  of  the  man,  and  a  little 
less  of  the  poet  in  his  look,  th.m  iiaiuting  would  have  given,  yet 


424  MEMOIR   OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

unmistakable  to  the  very  character  of  the  hands,  broad  and  bt'anii- 
ful  in  form.  The  liair,  not  so  fine,  is  rather  lost  in  the  hazy  shudi)  ws 
of  the  photograph,  out  an  else  is  good  and  true.  Wliy,  some  one 
may  ask,  are  those  ^'■weepers"*  on  his  sleeves ?f  This  was  a  mark 
of  respect  he  paid  to  the  memory  of  his  wife,  and  which  he  con- 
tinued to  wear  as  long  as  he  lived,  renewing  these  simple  outward 
memorials  with  tender  regularity.  The  solicitude  he  showed  about 
his  weepers  was  very  touching.  Many  a  time  I  have  sewed  them 
on  while  he  stood  by  till  the  work  was  finished,  never  satisfied 
unless  he  saw  it  done  himself. 

A  street  scene  was  described  to  me  by  a  lady  who  saw  it  take 
place : — 

One  summer  afternoon,  as  she  was  about  to  sit  down  to  dinner, 
her  servant  requested  her  to  look  out  of  the  window,  to  see  a  man 
cruelly  beating  his  horse.  The  sight  not  being  a  very  gratifying 
one,  she  declined,  and  proceeded  to  take  her  seat  at  table.  It  was 
quite  evident  that  the  servant  had  discovered  something  more  than 
the  ill-usage  of  the  horse  to  divert  his  attention,  for  he  kept  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  window ;  again  suggesting  to  his  mistress  that  she 
ought  to  look  out.  Her  interest  was  at  length  excited,  and  she  rose 
to  see  what  was  going  on.  In  front  of  her  house  (Moray  Place) 
stood  a  cart  of  coals,  which  the  poor  victim  of  the  carter  was  un- 
able to  drag  along.  He  had  been  beating  the  beast  most  unmerciful- 
ly, when  at  that  moment  Professor  Wilson,  walking  past,  had  seen  tlu; 
outrage  and  immediately  interfered.  The  lady  said,  that  from  the 
expression  of  his  face,  and  vehemence  of  his  manner,  the  man  was 
evidently  "getting  it,"  though  she  was  unable  to  hear  Avliat  was 
said.  The  carter,  exasperated  at  this  interference,  took  up  his  whip 
in  a  threatening  way,  as  if  with  intent  to  strike  the  Professor.  In 
an  instant  that  well-nerved  hand  twisted  it  from  the  coarse  fist  of 
tiie  man,  as  if  it  had  been  a  straw,  and  walking  quietly  up  to  the 
cart  he  unfastened  its  tranis^  and  hurled  the  whole  weight  of  coals 
into  the  street.  The  rapidity  with  which  this  was  done  left  the 
driver  of  the  cart  speechless.  Meanwhile,  poor  Kosinante,  freed 
from  his  burden,  crept  slowly  away,  and  the  Professor,  still  clutch- 
ing the  whip  in  one  hand,  and  leading  the  horse  in  the  other,  pro- 

•  "  Weepers"  are  "stripes  of  muslin  or  cambric  stitched  on  the  extremities  of  the  sleeves  of  a 
black  coat  or  sown,  as  a  badge  of  mournin;;." — Jamieiion. 

t  They  do  not  appear  in  the  engraving,  as  the  page  is  too  small  to  contain  the  whole  pilo- 
ts ^a;ih. 


LITEEAKY    AND    DOMESTIC    LIFE.  4 1^5 

Cerided  through  Moray  Place  to  deposit  the  wretched  aniinul  in 
better  keeping  than  that  of  its  driver.  This  little  e[)isode  is  delight- 
fully characteristic  of  his  im])ulsive  nature,  and  the  benevolence  of 
his  heart.  No  weak  appeal,  through  the  gossiping  cuhuniis  of  news- 
papers, to  humane  societies  for  the  suppression  of  cruelty  to  ani- 
mals ;  but  action  on  the  spot,  with  instantaneous  aid  to  the  op- 
pressed. Such  summary  measures,  however,  are  not  always  taken. 
Moral  courage  is  required  to  fice  bystanders ;  and  not  many  would 
care  to  be  seen  with  a  carter's  huge  whip,  leading  a  miserable  raw- 
boned  old  horse  through  the  fashionable  streets  of  Edinburgh. 
But  he  despised  nothing  that  was  just,  even  to  the  meanest  of  cre- 
ated things  ;  and  had  a  supreme  contempt  for  the  observance  of 
conventional  formalities,  when  they  interfered  with  good  and  hon- 
est feelings  of  the  heart. 

It  may  seem  somewhat  strange,  as  I  advance  towards  the  later 
years  of  my  father's  life,  that  I  can  relate  nothing  of  foreign  travel ; 
or  even  of  recurring  visits  to  London.  Ordy  twice  after  his  mar- 
riage did  he  go  to  the  metropolis,  and  then,  not  for  any  lengthened 
period,  nor  with  the  purpose  of  keeping  himself  in  the  world,  or 
gathering  gossip  from  that  great  whirlpool  of  tongues.  He  ne\  er,  as 
far  as  I  can  remember,  at  any  time  thought  of  or  cared  to  associate 
his  name  with  circumstances  likely  to  bring  him  into  contact  with 
that  huge  centre  of  the  world — the  first  entrance  to  which  he  so 
beautifully  describes  in  his  "Recreations,"  written  in  1828;  too 
long  to  give  here,  and  yet  almost  too  fine  to  be  omitted.  But  those 
who  do  not  know  it,  will  do  well  to  learn  how  a  nature  such  as  his 
was  affected,  by  what  scarcely  now  awakens  more  than  a  certain  cu- 
riosity, that  ere  long  takes  the  shape  of  blase  indifference.  I  doubt 
very  much  if  any  spirit,  even  beyond  the  common  mould,  ever  had 
such  emotions  awakened  within  it  as  those  Wilson  felt  when,  "  all 
alone  and  on  foot,"  he  reached  that  mighty  city,  where  every  sight 
he  saw  called  up  some  thought  of  wonder  from  the  treasures  of  his 
ardent  mind. 

Here  is  a  portion  of  his  powerful  descrij)tion  ;  to  convey  the  idea 
how,  without  fear  yet  trembling,  he  left  the  world  of  his  d reruns, 
the  ''emerald  caves,"  the  "pearl-leaved  forests,"  and  "a^^jthodd 
meadows,"  and  opened  his  eyes  upon  that  which  w.is  no  longer  a 
shadow.  "Now  were  we  in  the  eddies — the  vortices — the  whirl- 
pools of  the  great  roaring  sea  of  life  !  and  away  we  were  carried. 
18 


4r'2(}  ^rKMoiii  (,'.F  JOHN  avilson. 

not  afraid,  yet  somcAvhat  trembling  in  the  awe  of  our  new  delight, 
into  the  lieart  of  the  liabitations  of  all  the  world's  most  imperial, 
mus<  pervile,  most  tyrannous,  and  most  slavish  passions!  All  that 
way.  most  ele'^ating  and  most  degrading,  most  startling  and  most 
subduing  too ;  most  trying  by  temptation  of  pleasure,  and  by  repul. 
sion  of  pain  ;  into  the  heart  of  all  joy  and  all  grief;  all  calm  and 
all  storm  ;  all  dangerous  trouble  and  more  dangerous  rest ;  all  rap- 
ture and  all  agony — crime,  guilt,  misery,  madness,  despair."  This 
fragment  is  part  of  one  of  those  prose  poems  which  he  has  so  often 
compoecO,  and  which  many  of  his  imaginative  essays  may  be  called. 
What  visions  foreign  shores  would  have  brought  to  h".  -'-^-"'  can 
from  such  morsels  as  this  be  imagined.  But  the  plans  of  his  youth, 
sketched  out  no  doubt  during  a  period  of  mental  disquietude,  and 
broken  up  forever,  were  not  likely  to  be  again  suggested  to  one 
"who  had  found  in  domestic  life  so  much  happiness.  Thus,  all 
thoughts  of  travel  were  dissipated  from  his  mind  when  excitement 
ceased  to  be  necessary  for  the  preservation  of  his  peace.  So  time 
passed  away,  and  no  new  place  rose  up  to  tempt  him  from  home. 
I  believe,  however,  if  his  health  had  continued  imbroken,  or  even 
been  partially  restored,  he  would  have  crossed  the  .\tlantic. 

There  is  no  literary  man  of  our  land  more  highly  prized  or  bet- 
ter appreciated  in  America  than  Professor  Wilson.  In  that  country 
his  name  is  respected,  and  his  writings  are  well  known.  It  is  doubt- 
ful if  in  England  he  has  so  large  a  circle  of  admirers.  I  have  often 
heard  him  speak  of  Americans  in  terms  of  admiration.  He  knew 
many,  and  received  all  who  came  to  see  him  with  much  interest  and 
kindness ;  loving  to  talk  with  them  on  the  literary  interests  of  their 
country ;  giving  his  opinion  freely  on  the  merits  and  demerits  of  its 
writers,  for  they  were  well  known  to  him.  Of  one  of  them  he 
always  spoke  with  profound  respect,  as  a  man  whose  spiritual  life 
and  great  accomplishments,  pure  philosophical  inquiries  and  critical 
taste,  had  given  him  a  lofty  position  among  his  countrpnen — Dr. 
Channing,  the  piety  of  whose  character  made  his  life  upon  earth  one 
of  singular  beauty.  Of  his  peculiar  religious  tenets  I  never  heai'd 
my  father  speak.  Xobility  of  luiture,  and  aspirations  directed  to 
high  aims  in  exercising  influence  for  good  over  his  fellow-creatures, 
wore  virtues  of  a  kind,  taken  in  combination  with  intellectual  power, 
suffifient  to  win  favor  from  him. 

The  autobiographical  nature  of  ray  father's  writings  permits  me, 


JJTERARY    AND    UOMKSTIC    I.IFE.  427 

to  a  certain  extont,  to  make  use  of  such  passages  as  I  know  are  not 
only  the  expression  of  his  seiitinients,  but  likewise  a  relk'x  of  his 
conduct  in  life.  Then  he  had  a  simple  habit  of  seeking  pleasure  in 
communion  with  his  own  people  above  all  others,  finding  their  soci- 
ety sufficient  for  the  interest  and  enjoyment  of  life.  Thus  it  is  that 
1  have  no  record  to  give  of  his  mixing  in  circles  composed  of  those 
above  him  in  station;  no  bans  mots  from  noble  wits;  no  flashes  of 
repartee  from  dames  of  high  degree  ;  at  home  and  abroad  he  walked 
a  simple,  unaffected,  unfashionable  man.  With  gracious  respect  to 
rank,  he  held  aloof  from  the  society  of  the  great ;  admiring,  from  the 
distance  at  which  he  stood,  the  great  and  illustrious  names  that 
adorned  his  land  ;  doing  homage  in  the  silence  of  his  heart  to  all  that 
makes  aristocracy  admirable  and  Avorthy  of  good  report,  y*^'"  pre- 
feriing  to  remain  true  to  his  own  order. 

It  was  this  loyalty  that  gave  him  power  over  the  hearts  of  men, 
and,  I  believe,  tiiis  influence  it  was  which,  beyond  the  respect  that 
knowledge  wins,  enabled  him  to  render  such  valuable  assistance  to 
art  in  Scotland.  Though  he  was  not  (beyond  opportunities  found 
in  youth)  cultivated  as  many  are  in  the  deeper  parts  of  art,  such  as 
can  only  be  fathomed  by  long  study  and  unwearied  research,  he 
nevertheless  possessed  an  intuitive  feeling  for  it ;  he  loved  it,  and 
brought  an  intimate  knowledge  of  nature  in  all  her  humors,  to  bear 
upon  what  Avas  set  before  him.  The  poet's  eye  unravelled  the  paint- 
er's meaning,  and  if  minute  detail  escaped  the  expression  of  his  ad- 
miration, as  not  being  significant  of  the  moving  spirit  of  the  painter's 
soul,  it  was  because  this  careful  transcription  meiged  its  beauty  into 
greater  and  more  touching  effect ;  even  as  in  contemplating  nature, 
our  first  feeling  is  not  to  sit  down  to  trace  the  delicate  pencillings 
of  flowers,  or  count  the  leaves  of  the  dark-belted  woods,  or  yet  pick 
out  the  violet  from  its  mossy  bed.  In  the  perfect  landscape  we 
know  how  much  lies  "  hidden  from  the  eye,"  and  so  with  the  perfect 
tableau.  Our  first  impression  is  taken  from  the  general  efFct,  and 
if  one  of  delight,  fails  to  be  recognized  until  our  transport  Ins  sub- 
sideil ;  then  from  delight  to  wonder  are  the  senses  chnnged,  and  the 
handiwork  of  nature  in  art  is  acknowledged  by  one  acclamation  of 
praise.  It  was  this  love  of  nature,  this  devotion  to  the  beautiful, 
the  truth,  as  I  have  before  observed,  that  made  my  father  welcome 
to  that  boily  of  men  who  form  so  interesting  a  portion  of  the  com- 
munity— oui-  painters.     Their  social  gatherings,  their  public  meet- 


428  MEMOIR   OF  JOHN    WILSON. 

ings,  even  the  "annual  Exhibition,"  was  confessed  to  be  benefited 
by  his  presence.  That  hearty  sympathy,  the  genial  smile,  and  the 
ready  joke,  are  all  remembered  as  something  not  soon  to  be  seen 
again.  TJie  artist's  studio  was  a  resort  well  known  to  him,  and  many 
an  hour  did  he  spend  within  its  pleasant  enclosures. 

On  one  occasion  when  sitting  to  Mr.  Thomas  Duncan  for  his  por- 
trait,* entering  his  studio,  he  said,  "  I  am  sorry,  my  dear  sir,  that 
my  sitting  must  to-day  be  a  short  one ;  I  have  an  engagement  at  two 
o'clock,  I  have  not  a  moment  after  that  hour  to  spare."  Mr.  Dun- 
can, of  course,  expressed  his  regret ;  and  at  once  arranged  his  easel, 
placed  his  subject  in  the  desired  position,  and  began  his  work.  Never 
had  an  hour  passed  away  so  rapidly.  The  Professor  was  in  excel- 
lent spirits,  and  the  painter,  delighted  with  his  sitter,  was  loath  to 
say  that  two  o'clock  had  struck.  "Has  it?"  said  the  Professor,  "I 
must  be  off;"'  and  forthwith  began  to  re-arrange  his  toilette,  looking 
at  himself  in  the  large  pier-glass,  stepping  backwards  and  forwards, 
making  remarks  upon  his  ai)pearance,  tying  his  neckcloth,  brushing 
back  his  hair,  then  turning  to  Mr.  Duncan  with  some  jocular  obser- 
vation on  the  subject  of  dress.  Sitting  down  for  a  moment  led  on 
to  something  about  art ;  then  perhaps  a  story.  Rising  up,  his  waist- 
coat, still  in  his  hand,  was  at  last  put  on  ;  a  walk  for  a  moment  or 
two  about  the  room  ;  another  story,  ending  in  laughter ;  beginning 
again  some  discourse  upon  graver  matters,  till  he  fell  into  a  train  of 
thought  that  by  degrees  warmed  him  into  one  of  those  indescribable 
rushes  of  eloquence,  tliat  poured  out  the  whole  force  of  his  mind ; 
turning  the  stutlio  into  a  lecture-room,  and  the  artist  to  one  of  the 
most  delighted  of  his  students. 

"  Bless  me,  my  dear  sir,"  he  said,  rising  sii'^-^'^nly ;  "give  me  my 
coat,  I  fe.tr  it  is  long  past  two  o'clock,  I  had  i,_most  forgotten  my 
engagement." 

Mr.  Duncan,  smiling,  handed  him  his  coat,  ei^ying,  "  I  fear,  sir 
your  engagement  must  be  at  an  end  for  to-day ;  it  is  now  five  o'clock." 

Many  a  story,  I  believe,  of  this  sort  could  be  told  of  him. 

There  is  notiiing  in  the  world  so  difficult  to  call  up  and  retain  as 
•a  passing  gleam  of  fun  or  humor.  W  e  require  the  accessories  of  the 
moment,  tiie  peculiar  little  touch,  the  almost  invisible  light,  that, 
gleaming  athwart  the  mind,  kindled  it  into  that  exuberance  out  of 

♦  Christophtir  in  his  Sporting  Jacket.     Mr.  Thomas  Puncan,  an  accomplished  artist,  died  In 
S44.     His  portrait,  painted  by  hiiusulf,  hangs  in  tho  NatJonai  Gallery,  Bdiuburgh. 


LITERARY    AND    DOMESTIC    LIFE.  429 

which  comes  the  story,  the  jest,  the  speaking  evidence  of  the  man. 
Better  is  it  to  be  silent  forever  than  destroy  the  meaning  of  such 
words.  Wilson's  conversational  pou'ers,  his  wit,  his  humor,  cannot, 
save  in  general  terms,  be  described.  I  humbly  confess  my  own  un- 
fitness tor  such  an  undertaking;  and  I  liave  not  been  able  to  meet 
Avith  any  one  who  by  faithful  repetition  can  give  me  aid  in  this  way. 
I  doubt  very  much  if  there  is  one  alive  who  could.  Mr.  Lockhart 
was  the  only  person,  who,  had  he  survived  to  do  honor  to  his  friend, 
might,  from  the  clearness  of  his  perceptive  qualities,  the  pungency 
of  his  wit,  and  the  elegance  of  his  language,  have  done  hhn  justice. 

Two  friends  have  sent  me  their  reminiscences  of  social  meetings 
with  him  about  this  time.     One  of  them  says : — 

"During  his  last  five  or  six  years,  in  common,  I  believe,  with  the 
rest  of  the  world,  I  saw  him  in  society  very  rarely.  It  was  said 
that  he  came  to  be  fond  of  solitude,  and  much  to  dislike  being  in- 
truded on.  I  remember  Lord  Cockburn  giving  a  pictures(iue  ac- 
count of  an  invasion  of  his  privacy.  It  was  something,  so  far  as  I 
can  recall  the  particulars,  in  this  way.  There  was  a  party  which  it 
Avas  supposed  he  should  have  joined,  but  he  did  not.  They  forced 
their  way  to  his  den,  and,  he  being  seated  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  walked  round  and  round  him  in  solemn,  silent,  and  weird-like 
procession,  he  equally  silent  and  regardless  of  their  presence,  only 
showing,  by  a  slight  curl  of  the  comer  of  his  mouth,  that  he  was 
hiternally  enjoying  the  humor  of  the  thing. 

"The  last  time  I  met  him  in  society  was  an  occasion  not  to  be 
easily  forgotten.  It  was  one  of  those  stated  evening  receptions 
(Tuesdays  and  Fridays)  which  brightened  the  evening  of  Jeffrey's 
life.  Nothing  wdiatever  now  exists  in  Edinburgh  that  can  convey 
to  a  younger  generation  any  impression  of  the  charms  of  that  circle. 
If  there  happened  to  be  any  stranger  in  Edinburgh  much  worth 
seeing,  you  were  sure  to  meet  him  there.  The  occasion  I  refer  to 
was  dealt  with  exactly  as  the  reception  of  a  distinguished  stranger, 
though  he  was  a  stranger  living  among  ourselves.  There  came  a 
rumor  up-stairs  that  Professor  Wilson  had  arrived,  and  a  buzz  and 
expectation,  scarcely  less  keen  among  those  who  had  never  met  him, 
than  among  others  who  wondered  what  change  the  years  since  they 
had  last  mot  him  in  festivity  had  wrought.  I  could  see  none.  He 
was  on  abstinence  regimen,  and  eschewed  the  mulled  claret  conse- 
crated to  those  meetings,  but  he  was  genial,  brilliant,  and  even 


430  MEMOIR    OF    JOHN    WILSON. 

jovial.     If  he  had  become  a  liennit,  it  was  eviilent  tliat  solitude 
had  not  visited  him." 

My  other  correspondent  met  the  Professor  at  a  dinner-party  at 
Lord  Robertson's,  the  last  party  of  the  kind,  I  think,  he  ever  was 
induced  to  be  present  at.  "  The  party  was  especially  joyous  and 
genial.  After  the  ladies  had  left  the  room,  the  host,  in  a  short 
mock-heroic  speech,*  moved  that  I  should  '  take  the  chair  of  the 
meeting,'  which  was  duly  seconded  by  the  Honorable  Lauderdale 
Maule,  of  the  79th  Higlilanders.  L^pon  modestly  declining  to  accept 
of  the  honor,  I  Avas  informed  that,  if  I  persisted  in  my  refusal,  I 
should  be  removed  from  the  room  by  a  policeman  for  contempt  of 
court !  1  then  at  once  moved  up  to  the  head  of  the  table  and  seated 
myself,  having  on  my  right  hand  the  gallant  and  accomplished  offi 
cer  above  mentioned,  and  on  my  left  the  grand-looking  old  Profes- 
sor, with  Ills  eye  of  tire,  and  his  noble  countenance  full  of  geniality 
and  kindness.  Lord  Robertson,  as  was  his  wont  several  years 
before  his  death,  sat  on  the  left-hand  side,  two  or  three  seats  from 
the  top.  Of  that  goodly  comp^^iy,  those  three  I  have  just  mentioned 
have  passed  away.  One  incident  I  remember  of  that  diimer-party. 
Rober<;son,  with  affectionate  earnestness,  but  from  which  he  could 

*  Of  Lord  Robertson's  mock-heroic  speeches.  Mr.  Lockhart  gives  a  vivid  description  in  his 
account  of  the  Burns  dinner  of  ISIS: — '"The  last  of  these  presidents  (Mr.  Patrick  Kobertson).  a 
young  Counsellor,  of  very  rising  reputation  and  most  pleasant  manner,  made  his  ajiproach  to  the 
chair  amidst  such  a  thunder  of  acclamation,  as  seems  to  be  issuing  from  the  cheeks  of  the  Bac- 
chantes, when  Silenus  gets  astriue  on  his  ass,  in  the  famous  picture  of  Eubens.  Once  in  the 
chair,  there  was  no  fear  of  his  quitting  it  while  anj-  remained  to  pay  homage  due  to  bis  authority. 
He  made  speeches,  one  chief  merit  of  which  consisted  (unlike  Epic  Poems)  in  their  having  neither 
beginning,  middle,  nor  end.  He  sang  songs  in  which  music  was  not.  He  proposed  toasts  in 
■which  meaning  was  not.  But  over  every  thing  that  he  said  there  was  flung  such  a  radiance  of 
shi-er  mother- wit,  that  there  was  no  difficulty  in  seeing  the  want  of  meaning  was  no  involuntary 
■want  By  the  perpetual  dazzle  of  nis  wit,  by  the  cordial  flow  of  his  good  humor,  but,  above  all, 
by  the  cheering  influence  of  his  broad,  happy  face,  seen  through  its  halo  of  punch  steam  (for  even 
the  chair  had  by  this  time  got  enough  of  the  juice  of  the  grape),  he  contrived  to  diffuse  over  us 
all,  for  a  long  time,  one  genial  atmosphere  of  unmingled  mirth."  The  remarks  I  have  already 
made,  as  to  the  difficulty  of  adequately  recording  the  expressions  of  original  humor,  where  the 
felicity  consists  in  the  expression  and  accessories  as  much  as  in  the  mere  words,  ajiply  equally  to 
the  wit  or  humor  of  Robertson.  I  venture,  however,  to  give  one  example  that  occurs  to  mc.  nut 
of  perhaps  hundreds  that  might  be  remembered,  of  bis  peculiar  and  invincible  power  of  cIo.sinK 
all  cnntrovt-rsy  oy  the  broadest  form  of  reductio  ad  absurdiim.  At  a  dinner  party,  a  li-arued 
and  pedantic  Oxonian  was  becoming  very  tiresome  with  his  Greek  erudition,  which  he  iM>i>t<-.l 
on  pouring  forth  on  a  variety  of  topics  more  or  less  recondite.  At  length,  at  a  certain  8t:^e  of 
the  discussion  of  some  histonc;il  point  Kobertson  turned  round,  and  fixing  his  largo  eyes  on  the 
■"Jon.  said,  with  a  Sidemnly  judicial  air.  "I  rather  think,  sir,  Oionysius  of  iralicaruassus  is 
ag:iinst  you  there."'  "  I  beg  your  p:irdon."  said  the  Don,  quickly,  "Dionysius  did  not  flourish  for 
ninety  years  after  that  period."  "Oh,"  rejoined  Patrick,  with  an  expression  of  face  that  musf 
be  im:igine<L  ''  I  made  a  ini>take.  I  meant  Thaddeus  of  Waf»aic.^  After  that  the  discusjwou 
ut'iit  iio  farther  in  the  Oretk  chanueL 


LITERARY    AXD    DOMES'HO    1.TFV.. 


431 


not  altogether  exclude  his  pocuHar  humorous  style  of  illustration, 
proposed  the  health  of  his  friend,  Professor  Wilsou.  The  Professor 
replied  wit!)  feeling,  but,  at  the  same  time,  gave  Robertson  a  re- 
joinder iu  Patrick's  own  style.  'I  have  known  him,'  said  the  Pro- 
fessor, '  since  his  early  manhood  ;  I  remember  his  beautiful  hair- 
intensely  red  I  Knew  him!  I  produced  him  ;  I  educed  him  ;  and 
I  occasionally  snuffed  him'  (here  the  Professor  stretched  out  his 
arm  in  the  direction  of  Robertson's  head,  making  the  motion  with 
his  hand  as  if  it  held  snuffers).  '  It  is  said,  I  believe,  my  friend  is  a 
wit :  this  I  deny;  he  never  was,  is  not,  and  never  can  be  a  wit;  I 
admit  his  humor,  humor  peculiarly  his  own — unctuous  and  unmis- 
takable.' In  tlie  couise  of  the  evening,  the  Professor  sang  his 
favorite  song  of  the  '  Sailor's  Life  at  Sea,'  and  with  what  power, 
with  what  sailor-like  aha)idon^  and  in  the  concluding  stanzas,  when 
he  describes  the  'Sailor's  death  at  Sea,'  with  what  simple  pathos! 
it  is  indescribable,  but  the  effect  was  visible  on  every  one  who  heard 
him.  Later  on,  he  volunteered  'Auld  Lang  Syne,'  and  often  as  I 
have  heard  the  song,  and  by  many  good  singers,  I  never  heard  be- 
fore, nor  ever  will  again,  such  a  rendering  of  it.  I]urns  himself 
would  have  been  glad  and  proud  to  have  joined  in  the  chorus !  I 
met  Wilson  one  or  two  days  after  in  Hanover  Street.  He  accosted 
me.  I  remarked  that  never  till  that  niglit  at  Robertson's  had  I  ever 
really  met  '  llie  Professor.''  He  said  it  was  a  pleasant  evening,  and 
that  'Peter'  was  very  good.  'But,  sir,'  said  he,  'a  very  curious 
circumstance  happened  to  myself;  I  awoke  next  morning  singing,  ay, 
and  a  very  accurate  version  too  of  the  words  and  music  of  that  quaint 
ballad  of  yours,  "The  Goulden  Vanitee  ;"  curious  thing,  sir,  wasn't 
it?'  and  with  a  sly  look  of  humor,  he  turned  and  walked  away."* 

•  This  quaint  ballad,  the  author  of  which  is  unknown,  is  worth  giving  in  a  note,  but  witi;,  .t 
the  magic  of  the  singer's  voice  it  reads  but  tamely. 


te3teEEilEi5^£^£iS5^lfe"=3^' 


THE  GOULDEN  VANITI:E. 
There  was  a  gallant  sliip, 
Aud  a  gallant  ship  was  she, 

Ivk  iiMle  (Ue.  and  the  Lowlands  low; 
And  she  was  calKil  " The  (ioitlden  Vanitee," 

As  she  Sailed  to  the  Lowlands  low. 


4:32  MEMOIK   OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

CHAPTER    XVn. 

CLOSING      YEAKS. 
1849-54. 

In  the  year  1849,  the  first  of  a  series  of  beautiful  papers  from  my 
fiither's  pen  appeared  in  Blackwood^  entitled  ''Dies  Boreales."  They 
are  ten  in  number,  and  to  me  are  more  attractive  than  any  of  his 
other  writings,  as  they  are  not  only  the  result  of  the  last  etfoits  of 
his  matured  strength,  put  forth  ere  the  night  came,  but  contain  the 
very  essence  of  his  experience.  Some,  no  doubt,  will  be  ready  to 
compare  them  with  the  "  Xoctes,"  and  complain  that  they  contain 

She  had  not  sailed  a  league, 
A  league  but  only  three, 

Eek,  etc. 
When  she  came  up  with  a  French  Gallee 

As  she  sailed,  etc. 

Out  spoke  the  little  cabin-boy, 
Out  spoke  he, 

Eek,  etc. ; 
"  What  will  you  .srive  me  if  I  sink  that  French  Gallee, " 

As  ye  sail  etc 

Out  spoke  the  captain, 
Out  spt>ke  he, 

Eek,  etc ; 
"  We'll  gi'o  ye  an  estate  in  the  North  Coontree," 

As  we  sail,  etc. 

"  Then  row  me  up  ticht 
In  a  black  bull's  skin, 

Eek,  etc. 
And  throw  me  o'er  deck-buird,  sink  I  or  swim," 

A.S  ye  sail,  etc 

So  they've  row'd  him  up  ticht 
In  a  black  bull's  skin : 

Eek,  etc, 
And  have  thrown  him  o'er  deck-buird,  sink  he  or  soom, 

As  they  sail,  etc. 

About  and  about. 
And  about  went  he, 

Eek,  etc. 
Until  he  came  up  with  the  French  Gallee 

As  they  sailed,  etc. 

Oh  1  some  were  playing  cards, 
And  Some  were  playing  dice : 
Eek,  etc, 


CLOSINQ   TEARS,  433 

less  variety  of  character  and  stirring  incident.  To  compensate  for 
mat  want,  however,  they  have  certain  deeper  qualities.  The  dis- 
cussions they  contain  on  some  of  the  higliest  quesiiuns  of  morals, 
and  the  criticisms  on  some  of  the  masterpieces  of  ancient  and  mod- 
ern poetry,  appear  to  me  to  be  of  the  very  highest  value.  In  the 
first  of  these  papers  some  noble  thoughts  will  be  found  upon  the 
rituals  of  the  Church,  from  which  I  should  like  to  extract  his  defi- 
nition of  what  composes  the  Scottish  service  : — 

"  The  Scottish  service  comprehends  prayer,  praise,  doctrine  ;  all 
three  necessary  verbal  arts  amongst  Christians  met,  but  each  in  ut- 
most simplicity.  The  praise,  which  unites  the  voices  of  the  con- 
gregation, must  be  written.  The  prayer,  which  is  tlie  turning 
towards  God  of  the  soul  of  the  shepherd  upon  behalf  of  the  flock, 

When  he  took  out  an  !:iislrumciit,  bored  thirty  holes  at  twice  I 
As  they  sailed,  etc 

Then  some  they  ran  with  cloaks, 
And  some  they  ran  with  caps, 

Eeli,  etc., 
To  try  If  they  could  stap  the  oaut-water  diaps, 

As  they  sailed,  etc. 

About  and  about, 
And  about  went  he, 

Eek,  etc.. 
Until  he  cam  back  to  the  Gonlden  Vanltee, 

As  they  sailed,  etc. 

"  Now  throw  me  o'er  a  rope. 
And  pu''  me  up  on  buird; 

Eek,  etc.. 
And  prove  unto  me  as  guid  as  your  word :" 

As  ye  sail,  etc 

"  We'll  no'  throw  you  o'er  a  rope. 
Nor  pu'  you  up  on  buird, 

Eek,  etc., 
Nor  prove  uuto  you  as  guid  as  our  wwd," 

As  we  sail,  etc. 

Out  spoke  the  little  cabin-boy, 
Out  spoke  he, 

Eek,  etc., 
"  Then  hang  me  I'll  sink  ye  as  I  sunk  the  French  OaUea," 

As  you  sail,  etc. 

3ut  they've  thrown  him  o'er  a  rope, 
And  have  pu'd  him  up  on  buird, 

Eek,  etc., 
And  have  proved  unto  him  far  better  tVan  their  wor< 

As  they  sailed,  etc 

1  am  indebted  for  ilio  words  and  the  music  to  my  friend  Mj-.  1*.  S.  Froser. 
18* 


434  MEMOIR    OF    JOHN    WILSON. 

ami  upon  his  own,  must  be  unwritten,  unpremeditated,  else  it  is  not. 
prayer.  Can  the  heart  ever  want  fitting  Avords  ?  The  teaching 
must  be  to  the  utmost  forcihought,  at  some  time  or  at  another,  as 
to  the  matter.  The  teacher  must  liave  secured  his  intelligence  of 
the  matter  ere  he  opens  his  mouth.  But  the  form,  which  is  of  ex- 
pedience only,  he  must  very  loosely  have  considered.  That  is  the 
theory.  It  presumes  that  capable  men,  full  of  zeal,  and  sincerity, 
and  love — fervent  servants  and  careful  shepherds — have  been  chosen 
under  higher  guidance.  It  sujjposes  the  holy  fire  of  the  new-born 
liefornuition — of  the  newly  regenerated  Church,  to  continue  un- 
damped, inextinguishable. 

"  The  fact  answers  to  the  theory  more  or  less.  The  original 
thought — simplicity  of  worship-  -is  to  the  utmost  expressed  wlien 
the  chased  Covenanters  are  mot  on  the  greensward  between  the 
hillside  and  the  brawling  brook,  under  the  colored  or  uncolored 
sky.  Understand  that,  when  their  descendants  meet  within  walls 
beneath  roofs,  they  would  worship  after  the  manner  of  their  hunted 
ancestors." 

My  inclination  would  lead  me  to  say  something  more  of  the 
"  Dies,"  but  I  must  leave  them,  trusting  that  fresh  readers  of  my 
father's  Avorks  will  seek  them  out,  and  read  him  in  the  same  spirit 
'IS  he  himself  did  those  great  minds  that  preceded  him. 

One  more  domestic  change  took  place  to  make  him  for  a  time  feel 
somewhat  lonely.  His  youngest  daughter,  Jane  Emily,  left  him  for  a 
home  of  her  own.  On  the  11th  of  April,  18-19,  she  was  married  to 
Mr.  William  Edmondstoune  Aytoun,  Professor  of  Belles  Lettres  in 
the  University  of  Edinburgh.  But  his  second  son,  Blair,  was  yet  left 
to  cheer  him  in  his  now  circumscribed  household  ;  discharging  with 
devotion  duties  of  aftection,  until  broken  health  obliged  him  unwil- 
lingly to  leave  Edinburgh,  and  seek  change  of  scene.  The  lemain- 
inor  portion  of  this  year,  like  many  others,  was  spent  at  his  own  fire- 
side ;  the  coming  and  going  of  his  family  forming  the  only  variety 
of  the  day,  not  unfrequently  concluded  by  t<ome  amusement  for  his  ' 

nndchildren.     \  favorite  walk  with  them  was  to  the  Zoological 

drdens.  Wonderful  diversions  were  met  with  there,  and  much 
enteitaining  talk  there  was  about  the  wild  beasts  ;  not  always,  how- 
ever, confined  to  the  amusement  of  the  little  children  who  walked 
with  him ;  for  he  generally  managed  to  find  auditcjrs  who,  if  not 
directly  addressed,  were  willing  to  linger  near  and  listen. 


CLOSING   YEAKS. 


435 


There  is  something  expressive  in  the  words,  "Little  Wa)s." 
Every  one  has  seen,  in  intimate  intercourse  with  hisfellow-creiitures, 
hubits  andpecuh.'irities  that  are  in  themselves  trilling  enough,  but 
^t<'  belonging  to  the  person  that  they  can  be  looked  upon  only  as  his 
'  ways,"  and  are  never  for  an  instant  disputed,  rather  encouraged. 
My  lather  had  a  number  of  these  "  ways,"  all  of  so  playful  a  land, 
60  much  proceeding  from  the  affection  of  his  nature,  that  I  can 
scarcely  think  of  him  without  them,  coming,  as  they  do,  out  of  the 
heart  of  his  domesticities,  when  moving  about  his  house,  preparing 
for  the  forenoon  lecture,  or  silting  simi)!y  at  home  after  the  labor  of 
the  day.  I  would  not  as  a  matter  of  taste  introduce  an  ordinary 
toilette  to  the  attention  of  the  reader,  but  with  the  Professor  this 
business  was  so  like  himself,  so  original,  that  some  account  of  it 
will  rather  amuse  than  offend.  By  iits  and  starts  the  process  of 
shaving  was  carried  on  ;  walking  out  of  his  dressing-room  into  the 
study ;  lathering  his  chin  one  moment  with  soap,  then  standing  the 
next  to  take  a  look  at  some  fragment  of  a  lecture,  which  would  ab- 
sorb liis  attention,  until  the  fact  of  being  without  coat,  and  having 
his  face  half-covered  with  soap,  was  entii'ely  forgotten,  the  reverie 
only  distiu'bed  by  a  ring  at  the  bell,  when  be  would  withdraw  to 
proceed  with  the  "  toilette's  tedious  task,"  which,  before  completion, 
would  be  interrupted  by  various  caprices,  such  as  walking  out  of 
one  room  into  another  ;  then  his  waistcoat  was  put  on  ;  after  that, 
perhaps,  he  had  a  hunt  among  old  letters  and  papers  for  the  lecture, 
now  lost,  which  a  mumte  before  he  held  in  his  hand.  Off  again  to 
his  dressing-room,  bringing  his  coat  along  with  him,  and,  diving 
into  its  pockets,  he  Avould  find  the  lost  lecture,  in  the  form  of  the 
tattered  fragment  of  a  letter,  which,  to  keej)  together,  he  was 
obliged  to  ask  his  daughter  to  sew'  for  him  with  needle  and  thread, 
an  operation  requiring  considerable  skill,  the  age  of  the  paper  havhig 
reduced  the  once  shining  Bath  post  to  a  species  of  crumbling  wool, 
uot  willing  to  be  transfixed  or  held  in  order  by  such  an  arrangement 
as  that  of  needlework.  At  last,  he  would  get  under  weigh  ;  but  the 
t^ing  of  his  shoes  and  the  winding-up  of  his  watch  were  the  finish- 
ing touches  to  this  disjointed  toilette.  These  little  operations  he 
never,  as  far  as  I  remend:)er,  did  for  himself;  they  were  offices  I 
(iftcn  had  the  pleasure  of  [jerforniing.  The  watch  was  a  great  joke. 
Ill  the  first  place,  he  seldom  wore  his  own,  which  never  by  any 
chance  was  right,  or  treated  according  to  the  natural  properties  of 


436  MKMOIU  OF  JOHN   wiLsoy. 

a  watch.*  Many  wonderful  escapes  this  t^-«iament  (if  so  it  may  be 
onlled)  hail  from  fire,  water,  and  sudden  deat.i.  All  that  was  requirea 
of  it  at  his  hands  was  that  it  should  go,  and  point  at  some  given 
hour.  His  o\rn  account  of  its  treatment  is  so  exactly  the  sort  of 
system  pursued,  that  this  little  imaginative  bit  oi  writing  will  de- 
scribe its  course  correctly : — "We  wound  up  our  chronometer  irregu- 
larly, by  fits  and  starts,  thrice  a  day,  perhaps,  or  once  a  week,  till  it 
fell  into  an  intermittent  fever,  grew  delirious,  and  gave  up  the 
ghost."  His  snuflF-bcr,  to©,  was  a  source  of  agony  to  him  ;  it  was 
always  lost,  at  least  the  one  he  wished  to  use.  He  had  a  curious 
sort  of  way  of  mislaying  things  ;  even  that  broad-brimmed  hat  of 
his  sometimes  went  amissing;  his  gloves,  his  pocket-handkerchief, 
every  thing,  just  the  moment  he  wished  to  be  off  to  his  class,  seemed 
to  become  invisible.  Xo  doubt  all  these  minor  evils  of  life  were 
vividly  before  him  when  he  makes  his  imaginary  editor  give  occa- 
sional vent  to  his  feelings  in  the  "  Xoctes."f 

These  are  some  of  the  "  ways."  Gas,  as  I  have  said,  he  could  not 
endure,  having  once  blown  it  out,  and  nearly  suflfocated  a  whole 
family.  It  was  the  first  duty  of  the  servant  to  place  the  tin  candle- 
stick and  snuffers  on  his  table  in  the  morning.  That  and  his  ink- 
stand were  two  articles  of  vertu  not  to  be  removed  from  his  sight. 
The  uikstand,  a  little  earthenware  image  of  Arion  on  his  dolphin, 
I  preserve  with  care  and  pride.J 

•  A  sufferer  sends  me  the  following  anecdote : — "  While  delivering  one  of  the  Inananral  Ad- 
dresses to  the  Philosophical  Institution,  of  which  he  was  president,  ii)  the  full  career  of  that  im- 
passioned eloquence  for  which  he  was  so  distinguished,  he  somewhat  suddenly  made  a  pause  in  his 
address.  Looking  round  on  the  platform  of  faces  beside  him,  he  put  the  emphatic  question,  'Can 
any  of  you  gentlemen  lend  me  a  watch  ?'  Being  very  near  him  I  handed  him  mine,  but  a  moment 
Lad  hardly  p.isst-d  ere  I  repented  doing  so.  Grasping  the  chronometer  in  his  band,  the  l^ofessor 
at  once  recommenced  his  oration,  and,  in  '  suiting  the  action  to  the  word,'  I  expected  it  would 
Boon  be  smashed  to  pieces;  but  I  was  agreeably  disappointed,  as,  after  swaying  it  to  and  fro  for 
tome  time,  he  at  last  laid  it  gently  down  on  the  cushion  before  him." 

t  •*  Who  the  devil  has  stolen  my  gloves?  cries  the  same  celebrated  literary  charactiv,  as,  s'amp- 
tag.  he  blows  his  nails,  and  bangs  the  front  door  after  him,  sulkily  shaking  his  naked  mawliea 
•n  the  steps  with  Sir  John  Frost. 

'•  Hang  itl  had  we  three  hundred  and  sixty-flve  snuff-boxea,  not  one  of  them  would  be  suffere«l 
t>  lie  still  on  this  table :  but  the  whole  gang  shall  be  dismissed,  men  and  women  alike,  thev 
are  all  thieves.  You  have  not  seen  my  slippers,  you  say,  sirrah? — Well,  then,  we  shall  us*  vr 
Interest  to  got  you  admitted  into  the  Blind  Asylum. 

"  Hold  your  confounded  tongue,  sir,  and  instantly  fetch  us  our  hat  What  else  have  you  got  to 
do  in  this  life,  you  lazy  hound,  but  attend  to  our  hat  ?    And  have  you  no  fears,  you  infidel  ?"' 

J  It  was  bought  by  my  mother,  in  a  small  shop  in  Stockbridge,  in  1S20.  That  shop  was  then 
kept  by  a  young  man.  who  has  sinc<^  risen  to  great  eminence  in  the  world,  having  gained  by 
t;s  acquirements,  and  extensive  antiquarian  knowledge,  a  name  of  European  fame.  In  his  private 
life  he  is  beloved  and  resi>eot<-d  by  all  who  know  him,  and  among  my  own  friends  there  is  n* 
one  I  esteem  more  highly  thun  Mr.  Itobvrt  Chambers. 


CLOSING   TEARS.  437 

He  was  in  his  luttor  years  passionately  fond  of  children  :  his  grand- 
children were  his  playmates.  A  favorite  pastime  with  tiiem  was 
fishing  in  imaginary  rivers  and  lochs,  in  boats  and  out  of  tliem  ;  the 
scenei-y  rising  around  the  anglers  with  magical  rapidity,  for  one 
glorious  reality  was  there  to  create  the  whole,  fishing-rods,  reels 
and  basket,  line  and  flies — the  entire  gear.  What  shouts  and 
Bcreams  of  delight  as  "  the  fun  grew  fast  and  furious,"  and  fish 
were  caught  by  dozens,  Goliah  getting  his  phantom  trout  unhooked 
by  his  grandfather,  who  would  caution  him  not  to  let  his  line  be 
entangled  in  the  trees  ;  and  so  they  would  go  on.  The  confidence 
which  children  pLice  in  their  elders  is  one  of  the  most  convincing 
proofs  of  the  love  bestowed  on  them.  At  that  period  of  life  no 
idea  of  age  crosses  the  mind.  The  child  of  six  imagines  himself 
surrounded  by  companions  of  his  own  age  in  all  he  sees.  The 
grandfather  is  an  abstract  of  love,  good  humor,  and  kindness ;  his 
venerable  aspect  and  dignified  bearing  are  lost  sight  of  in  the  over- 
flowing benevolence  of  his  heart.  Noah's  ark,  trumpets,  drums, 
pencils,  puzzles,  dolls,  and  all  the  delightful  games  of  infant  life  are 
supposed  to  possess  equal  interest  in  his  eyes.  I  have  often  seen 
this  unwearieil  playmate  sitting  in  the  very  heart  of  all  these  para- 
phernalia, taking  his  part  according  to  orders  given,  and  actually 
going  at  the  request  of  some  of  these  urchins  up-stairs  to  the  nur- 
sery to  fetch  down  a  forgotten  toy,  or  on  all-fours  on  the  ground 
Iielpiug  them  to  look  for  some  lost  fragment.  With  all  this  fami- 
liarity there  was  a  certain  feeling  of  awe,  and  care  was  taken  not 
to  otfend.  Sometimes  the  little  group,  becoming  too  noisy,  would 
be  suddenly  dispersed  :  Christopher,  being  in  no  humor  to  don  his 
*'  sporting-jacket,"  closed  for  a  brief  season  the  study-door,  intimat- 
in<jr  that  serious  work  had  be^un. 

A  nervous  or  fidgety  mother  would  have  been  somewhat  startled 
at  his  mode  of  treating  babies  ;  but  I  was  so  accustomed  to  all  his 
doings  that  I  never  for  a  moment  interfered  with  them.  His  grand- 
daughter went  through  many  perils.  He  had  great  pleasure  i'l 
amusing  himself  with  her  long  before  she  could  either  walk  or 
speak.  One  day  I  met  him  coming  down-stairs  with  what  appeared 
to  be  a  bundle  in  his  hands,  but  it  was  my  baby  which  he  clutched 
by  the  back  of  the  clothes,  her  feet  kicking  through  her  long  robe, 
and  her  little  arms  striking  about  evidently  in  enjoyment  of  the 
reckless  position  in  wljieh  she  was  held.     He  said  this  way  of  car- 


438  MEMOIR    OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

rying  a  child  was  a  discovery  he  had  made,  tliat  it  was  quite  safe, 
and  very  good  for  it.  It  was  all  very  well  so  long  as  he  remem- 
bered what  lie  was  about ;  but  more  than  once  this  large  good-na- 
tured baby  was  left  all  alone  to  its  own  devices.  Sometimes  he 
would  lay  her  down  on  the  rug  in  his  room  and  forget  she  was 
Jhere  ;  when,  coming  into  the  drawing-room  without  his  plaything, 
and  being  interrogated  as  to  where  she  was,  he  would  remember 
he  had  left  her  lying  on  the  floor ;  and  bringing  her  back  with  a 
joke,  still  maintaining  he  was  the  best  nurse  in  the  world,  "but  I 
will  take  her  u}>stairs  to  Sally,"  and  so,  according  to  his  new  dis- 
covery, she  was  carried  back  unscathed  to  the  nursery.  He  did 
not  always  treat  the  young  lady  with  this  disrespect,  for  she  was 
very  often  in  his  arms  Avhen  he  w:;s  preparing  his  thoughts  for  the 
lecture-hour.  A  pretty  tableau  it  was  to  see  them  in  that  littered 
room,  among  books  and  papers — the  only  bright  things  in  it — and 
the  SPAREOW,  too,  looking  on  while  he  hopped  about  the  table,  not 
quite  certain  whether  he  should  not  affect  a  little  envy  at  the  sight 
of  the  new  inmate,  whose  chubby  hands  were  clutching  and  tearing 
away  at  the  long  hair,  which  of  right  belonged  to  the  audacious 
bird.  So  he  thought,  as  he  chirped  in  concert  with  the  baby's 
screams  of  delight,  and  dared  at  last  to  ahght  upon  the  shoulder 
of  the  unconscious  Professor,  absorbed  in  the  volume  he  held  in  his 
hand. 

Such  were  the  little  scenes  that  recall  "the  grandfather"  to 
me ;  and  I  hope  I  have  not  wearied  my  readers  by  this  detail  about 
babies  and  children,  but  that  I  may  have  added,  by  common  fixcts, 
a  tenderer  association  to  his  name,  claiming  from  those  who  only 
knew  his  intellect  respect  for  the  loving  sympathies  that  made  home 
80  sweet. 

I  have  now  come  to  the  year  1850,  when  my  father  was  living 
alone  in  his  house  in  Gloucester  Place,  leaving  it  occasionally  to 
visit  his  son  .John  at  Billholm,  as  two  letters  bearing  the  date  of 
that  year  show.  They  are  both  addressed  to  his  second  son, 
Blair,  and  are  written  in  his  usual  kind  and  home-loving  spirit. 
One  of  them  announces  the  death  of  his  faithful  old  servant,  Billy 
Balmer : — 

"LiXMOCXT,  nth  Augtist,  1850. 

"  My  dear  Blair  : — Poor  Billy  died  here  yesterday  night  about 
nine  o'clock,  so  quietly,  that  we  scarcely  knew  when  he  was  gone. 


CLOSING    YEA  Its.  1159 

On  Friday,  he  is  to  be  interred  in  tlie  adjacent  conu'teiy.  His 
wife  liad  cunie  from  Bowiiess. 

"I  tliink  of  going  to  Billbohn  on  Saturday  for  ten  days.  Per- 
haps you  will  write  to  me  there  on  (jetting  this,  and  tell  me  liow 
you  are  going  on.  Your  letter  to  Jane  was  most  acceptable  to  all 
of  us. 

"  I  will  write  to  you  from  Billholm  on  receiving  a  letter  from 
you.  All  well.  Jane  Aytoun  and  Golly  left  for  liillliohn  yesterday, 
Kind  regards  to  all  friends  at  Kirkebost,  and  believe  mo  ever,  your 
most  aifectionate  father,  J-  W." 

Of  Billy  a  few  more  words  may  be  said.  The  last  time  my  fa- 
ther visited  Westmoreland  was  in  the  year  1848.  Whether  his  old 
boatman  fancied,  from  being  no  longer  young,  that  he  would  soon 
be  sei)arated  from  his  master  forever  I  cannot  say,  but  soon  after 
he  took  a  longing  to  visit  Scotland.  The  railway  from  Kendal  to 
Edinburgh  had  been  open  some  short  time,  but  Billy  was  a  stern 
Conservative,  and  could  not  suffer  the  idea  of  modern  reform  in  any 
shape  ;  he  considered  railways  generally  not  only  destructive  to  the 
country  at  large,  but  to  individual  life  in  particular — a  species  of 
infernal  machine  for  the  purpose  of  promoting  sudden  death.* 
Willi  these  feelings,  perfectly  orthodox  in  the  breast  of  such  a 
primitive  son  of  creation,  it  is  natural  to  suppose  that  he  would 
shun  the  locomotive.  So  one  fine  day  he  bade  farewell  to  "  pretty 
Bowness,"  and  trudged  manfully  on  foot  all  the  way  into  Eskdalo 
Muir,  arriving,  weary  and  worn  out,  after  a  coujjle  of  days'  walk- 
ing, at  the  hospitable  door  of  Billholm.  There  he  was  received, 
and  he  tarried  for  some  months ;  but  kind  though  the  young  master 
was,  he  longed  for  the  old.  After  a  time  he  left  the  "  house  that 
shines  well  where  it  stands,"  and  made  his  w^ay  to  Edinburgh, 
True  devotion  like  that  met  Avith  the  reward  due  to  it,  and  Billy 
was  re-established  in  his  master's  service,  dressed  after  the  fashion 
of  his  early  days,  in  sailor  guise,  with  pleasant  work  to  do,  and  a 
glass  of  ale  daily  to  cheer  his  old  soul. 

I  never  knew  of  any  love  to  mortal  so  true  as  that  of  Billy  for 
my  father.     It  was  like  that  of  David  for  Jonathan,  "  passing  the 

*  Billy's  lioiTor  at  railways  appears  to  have  been  shared  by  others  who  ought  to  have  known 
bolter.  Witness  Wordsworth's  linos  on  the  projected  Kendal  and  Windermere  Kailway,  com 
niencing — 

"  Is  there  no  nook  of  English  ground  secure  from  rash  assault?" 


440  MKMOIK    OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

love  of  women."  Cheerful  reminiscences  he  had  of  past  labor  by 
the  lake-side;  then  came  kiiulness  and  care  to  soothe  the  weakness 
and  troubles  of  advaiicini;-  age;  and,  hist  of  all,  the  toucli  of  a  ten- 
der hand  by  the  dying  bed.  Poor  old  man  ;  he  liad  come  to  pay  nie 
a  visit  at  Lixmount,  where  I  was  then  residing,  when  he  took  his 
last  illness  ;  he  lay  some  weeks,  fading  gradually  away.  Before  his 
last  hour  came,  I  sent  to  let  my  lather  know  I  thought  it  was  at 
hand;  my  message  brought  him  imsnediately.  He  walked  tlie  dis- 
tance— about  two  miles  from  Gloucester  Place ;  and  walking  at 
that  time  was  beginning  to  fatigue  him,  so  he  arrived  heated  and 
tired,  but  went  at  once,  without  taking  rest,  to  his  old  comrade's 
room,  wliere  he  found  him  conscious,  though  too  weak  to  speak. 
Billy's  eye  lighted  up  the  moment  it  rested  on  the  beloved  face  be- 
fore him,  and  he  made  an  effort  to  raise  his  hand — the  weather- 
beaten  hynd  that  had  so  often  pulled  an  oar  on  Windermere ;  it 
was  lying  unnerved  and  white,  barely  able  to  return  the  pressure 
so  tenderly  given.  The  other  held  in  its  helpless  grasp  a  black  silk 
handkerchief  which  he  seemed  desirous  of  protecting.  As  the  day 
wore  on  life  wore  away.  The  scene  was  simple  and  sad.  Pale  and 
emaciated,  the  old  man  rested  beneath  the  white  drapery  of  his  bed, 
noiseless  almost  as  a  shadow;  while  my  father  sat  beside  him,  still 
fresh  in  face  and  powerful  in  frame,  exhibiting  in  his  changing  coun- 
tenance the  emotions  of  solemn  thought  and  a  touched  heart.  Soon 
the  change  came ;  a  stronger  breathing  for  a  moment,  a  few  faint 
sighs,  and  then  that  unmistakable  stillness  nowhere  to  be  heard  but 
in  the  chamber  of  death.  The  old  boatman  had  passed  to  other 
shores.  The  handkerchief  he  grasped  in  his  hand  was  one  given  to 
him  by  his  master  ;  he  had  desired  his  wife  to  lay  it  beside  him.  It 
was  a  something  tangible  when  memory  was  leaving  him,  that  re- 
vived in  his  heart  recollections  of  the  past.  Billy  Balmer  was  in 
terred  in  the  "NVarriston  Cemetery.  My  father  Avalked  at  the  head 
of  his  coffin,  and  laid  him  in  his  grave. 

The  next  letter  is  written  in  September : — 

"My  dear  Blair: — Golly  and  Jane  having  both  written  to  you 
from  Billholm,  I  need  say  little  of  my  visit  to  it.  You  know,  too, 
of  the  sudden  appearance  of  the  dear  Doctor.*  We  left  them  all 
well  on  the  Wednesday  j^i'eceding  the  Queen's  arrival.     But  we 


CLOSING    YKAUS.  4-ii 

did  not  go  to  see  her  entree  on  Tiiursday,  and  so  missed  wliat  I  hear 
was  a  sight  worth  seeiug.  On  Fri-hxy  I  attended,  with  about  twelve 
other  professors,  the  stone-hiying,*  which  was  pretty.  The  Prince 
spoke  well,  and  to  the  purpose.  On  Saturday  we  dined  with  ^Irs. 
II.  Chambers,  and  met  De  Quincey  and  his  daughters  and  a  few 
others.  In  the  evening  dropt  in  about  150  literary  persons  of  all 
ages  and  sexes  ;  and  I  never  saw  the  Doctor  in  such  force.  His 
tongue  never  lay,  and  he  would  have  sat  till  midnight ;  but  Sabbath 
broke  up  the  paity.  Next  day  Mary  came  for  us  in  her  carriage, 
but  no  Doctor  was  to  be  foimd,  so  we  went  to  Lixmount  without 
him,  and  at  half-past  seven  he  appeared  in  a  brougham,  having  lost 
liimself  in  some  quanies.  On  Tuesday,  he  dined  with  Mrs.  Pit- 
man, and  to-day  accompanies  her  to  the  Horticultural;  so  I  do  not 
expect  to  see  him  again  till  Friday.  lie  is  stronger  than  I  ever 
knew  him,  and  in  great  spirits ;  and  I  am  as  kind  to  him  as  possible. 
I  expect  he  will  stay  yet  for  ten  days,  when  he  returns  to  Abberly 
to  accompany  Mrs.  Busk  to  London.  I  am  not  without  hopes  that 
he  will  pay  us  a  visit  early  in  spring.     He  s.'uds  his  love  to  you. 

"  Gordon  is  the  greatest  man  in  Edinburgh — next  to  him  the 
Provost  and  Mr.  Moxey.f  The  place  seems  quiet  again  as  before, 
but  the  excitement  was  great.  Dear  Jane  had  a  bad  attack  two 
days  before  we  left  Billholm,  but  was  up  the  day  we  left,  and  I 
trust  quite  haidy  again.  I  am  much  the  better  of  the  dear  Doc- 
tor's visit,  and  am  in  good  spirits.  You  aie  not  forgotten  in  Skye 
by  any  of  us ;  and  we  all  rejoice  to  think  Avhat  a  stock  of  health 
you  are  laying  in  for  the  winter.  I  am  glad  the  guardsman  and  lady 
are  pleasant.  Wiieu  the  Doctor  goes  I  shall  be  able  to  know  my 
own  motions.  I  must  go  then  for  a  few  days  to  St.  Andrews.  Al- 
ter that  I  will  Avrite  to  you.  Meanwhile  God  bless  you,  ever  prays 
your  affectionate  father,  J.  W. 

"  Give  my  very  kindest  regards  to  the  Doctor  and  good  lady." 

The  "  dear  Doctor,"  whose  name  has  so  frequently  been  men- 
tioned in  these  pages,  claims  a  few  more  words  here.  The  school- 
boy of  olden  days,  beloved  by  all  for  his  gentleness  and  goodness, 
singing  out,  as  Miss  Sym  describes  him,  "  Ohon  a  ree  !  ohon  a  ree  !'' 
whom  she  tinds  "grojiing  in  the  piess,  howking  out  a  book,  part 

*  The  fdumiation-stono  of  tlu-  n-w  National  Gallery  on  the  Mound. 
+  Superintendeut  of  Police. 


44-2  MEMOIR    OF    JOHN    WILSOX. 

of  which  was  rojitl  with  his  peculiar  burr.''  These  simple  words 
give  us  the  impression  that  tiiere  was  a  somotliing  about  lilni  dif- 
ferent from  other  boys.  As  a  man,  I  never  saw  any  one  like  him ; 
and  truly  he  continued  his  love  for  ''  howking  out  books."  How 
inurli  he  read,  and  to  what  purpose,  may  be  clearly  seen  from  the 
correspondence  between  himself  and  his  friend,  to  whom,  in  exterior 
and  manner,  he  formed  a  strange  contrast.  The  gentleness  of  his 
movements  was  remarkable.  There  was  almost  a  timidity  of  char- 
acter expressed  in  his  bearing  at  first  sight ;  but  the  wonderful  in- 
telligence of  his  countenance,  the  fine  formation  of  his  head,  dis- 
pelled that  impression,  and  the  real  meaning  was  read  in  perceiving 
that  modesty,  not  fear,  conquered  his  spirit,  taking  from  him  that 
confidence  which  the  consciousness  of  power  almost  always  gives. 
It  was  similarity  of  studies  and  sentiments  that  made  them  so  much 
one  ;  for  of  athletic  sports  in  any  shape,  Dr.  Blair  knew  nothing 
practically,  nor  cared.  The  course  and  habit  of  his  life  were  like 
the  smooth,  deep  water;  serene,  undisturbed  to  outward  eye,  and 
the  very  repose  that  was  about  him  had  a  charm  for  the  restless, 
active  energy  of  his  friend,  who  turned  to  this  gentle  and  meek  na- 
ture for  mental  rest.  I  have  often  seen  them  sitting  together  in  the 
quiet  retirement  of  the  study,  peifectly  absorbed  in  each  other's 
presence,  like  schoolboys  in  the  abandonment  of  their  love  for  each 
other,  occupying  one  seat  between  them,  my  father,  with  his  arm 
lovingly  embracing  "  the  dear  Doctor's"  shoulders,  playfully  pulling 
the  somewhat  silvered  locks  to  draw  his  attention  to  sometning  in 
the  tome  spread  out  on  their  knees,  from  which  they  were  both 
reading.  Such  discussions  as  they  had  together  hour  upon  hour ! 
Shakspere,  Milton — always  the  loftiest  themes — never  weary  in 
doing  honor  to  the  great  souls  from  whom  they  had  learnt  so  much. 
Their  voices  were  difterent  too:  Dr.  Blair's  soft  and  sweet  as  that 
of  a  woman  ;  my  fother's  sonorous,  sad,  with  a  nervous  tremor : 
each  revealing  the  peculiar  character  of  the  man.  Much  of  the  Pro- 
fessor's deep  thought  and  love  of  philosophy  grew  out  of  this  friend- 
ship. The  two  men  were  mutually  invaluable  to  each  other.  The 
self-confidence  of  the  stronger  man  did  not  tyrannize  over  the  more 
gentle,  whose  modesty  never  sunk  into  submission,  nor  quailed  in 
presence  of  a  bolder  power.  Their  knowledge  was  equal  ;  the  dif- 
ference lay  in  their  natural  powers.  The  one  bright,  versatile,  ai.d 
resolute,  has  left  his   works  behind  bun;   while  the  other,  never 


ci'-osiNO  y?:ars.  443 

F:itisfif'(l,  always  doing  and  undoing,  lias  unfortunately  given  but 
little  to  the  world  :  and  it  is  to  be  feared  the  grave  will  close  over 
this  remarkable  man,  leaving  no  other  trace  of  his  rare  mind  and 
delightful  nature  than  that  which  friendship  hallows  in  its  breast. 
The  last  visit  Dr.  Blair  jtaid  to  his  friend,  their  time  was  exclusively 
devoted  to  the  study  ol'  Milton,  and  the  result  of  these  hours  finds 
noble  record  in  the  "Dies  Boreales."  The  subject  is  approachel 
with  a  reverence  such  as  ever  marks  a  spirit  willing  to  bow  before 
a  great  power.  The  inner  purpose  of  the  poet's  soul  claims  the 
critic's  every  thought,  and  he  advances  with  well-ordered  steps 
from  the  beautiful  portals,  opened  by  invocation  to  the  rau.*e,  into 
the  heart  of  the  splendid  structure,  leading  his  reader  with  unri- 
valled skill  into  lofty  chambers  of  thought  and  imagery. 

It  is  now  time  to  speak  of  those  days  in  which  the  sand  was  run- 
ning quickly  down  in  the  glass.  A  change  which  the  eye  of  affec- 
tion is  not  always  the  first  to  mark,  could  not,  however,  be  con- 
cealed from  his  family.  In  the  winter  of  1850,  symptoms  of  break- 
ing up  of  health  obliged  the  Professor,  for  the  first  time,  to  absent 
liimself  from  College  duties.  I  have  received  an  account  of  one 
particular  illness,  the  exact  statement  of  which  did  not,  at  the  time 
it  took  place,  come  from  his  lips.  Indeed,  as  his  health  decidedly 
weakened,  so  did  he  in  j)roportion  try  to  rise  above  it.  The  same 
interest  in  his  work  which  kindled  his  energies  in  early  years, 
glowed  Avith  unabated  ardor  in  old  age.  I  give  it  as  it  was  sent 
to  me  :* — 

"  One  day  Professor  Wilson  was  late  in  appearing  ;  perhaps  ten 
or  twelve  minutes  after  the  class  hour — an  unusual  thing  with  hitu, 
for  he  was  punctual.  We  had  seen  hira  go  into  his  private  room. 
We  got  uneasy,  and  at  last  it  was  proposed  that  I  should  go  in,  and 
see  what  it  was  that  detained  him.  To  my  latest  hour  I  will  re- 
member the  sight  I  saw  on  entering.  Having  knocked  and  received 
no  answer,  I  gently  opened  the  door,  and  there  I  found  the  Profes- 
sor lying  at  full  length  on  the  floor,  with  his  gown  on.  Instinctively 
I  rubbed  his  head  and  raised  it  up,  kneeling  with  the  noble  head 
resting  on  my  breast.  I  could  not,  of  course,  move.  But  in  a  few 
minutes  in  came  other  students,  wondering  in  turn  what  was  keep- 
mg  nie,  and  we  together  raised  the  Proiessor  up  into  his  cliair.  I 
caught  the  words  '  God  bless  you !'     Gradually  he  got  better,  and 

*  By  tho  Urtv.  A.  B.  Grosart,  Kinross. 


44 -i  MEMOIR   OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

"Nve  forced  him  to  sit  still,  and  never  dream  of  lecturing  that  day  or 
for  a  time.  He  was  very  reluctant  to  consent.  I  remember  too  tliat 
"we  spoke  of  calling  a  cab,  but  he  said  'No,'  it  would  shake  him  too 
much.  In  about  half-an-hour  he  walked  home.  We  announced  to 
the  class  what  had  taken  place,  and  very  sore  our  hearts  were.  I 
think  the  Professor  remained  away  three  weeks,  and  on  his  return 
expressed  glowingly  and  touchiiigly  his  gratitude  to  '  his  dear 
young  friends.' " 

This  was  his  last  year  of  public  labor.  The  whole  session  had 
been  one  of  toil  to  him,  and  the  exertions  he  made  to  compass  his 
work  could  not  be  concealed. 

His  last  Medallist  says  :* — 

"The  end  did  not  come  till  his  work  for  that  session  Avas  done. 
On  Friday  he  distributed  prizes,  and  heard  the  students  read  their 
essays;  taking  particular  interest  in  those  of  one  gentleman  who, 
with  great  ability,  attacked  his  whole  system,  and  of  another  who 
fancied  that  he  had  discovered  a  via  tn'idia  between  the  two  great 
factions.  Then  he  dismissed  us,  and  the  cheers  and  plaudits  of  his 
class  rang  in  his  ear  for  the  last  time.  On  Monday  I  called  to  get 
his  autograph  on  one  of  my  books ;  but  the  blow  had  already  to 
some  extent  fallen,  for  he  was  unable  even  to  write  his  name.  Twice 
after  tliis  I  saw  him,  at  his  own  request,  and  always  on  the  subject 
of  his  lectures ;  for  he  was  bent  on  what  he  called  a  '  reconstruction' 
of  his  theory  for  the  ensuing  session  ;  while  it  was  but  too  plain  to 
those  around  him  that  he  was  not  likely  to  see  the  College  again. 
The  old  lion  sat  in  his  arm-chair,  yellow-maned  and  toothless,  pre- 
lecting with  the  old  volubility  and  eloquence,  and  with  occasionally 
the  former  flash  of  the  bright  blue  eye,  soon  di'ooping  into  dullness 
again.  I  still  remember  his  tremulous  '  God  bless  you !'  as  the  door 
closed  for  the  last  time.  How  different  from  that  fresh  and  vigorous 
old  age  in  which  he  had  moved  among  us  so  royally  the  year  before  !" 

The  relaxation  of  summer  holidays  brought  no  satisfactory  im- 
provement in  his  health.  The  truth  lay  heavy  on  his  spirit — that 
the  usefulness  of  liis  life  was  drawing  to  its  close.  Day  by  day  some 
strength  went  out  of  him,  and  he  must  bid  farewell  to  "  his  children," 
as  he  was  wont  to  call  his  students.  The  freshness  of  his  glory  was 
no  longer  in  him  ;  '•  the  bow  was  not  renewed  in  his  hand."  Long 
and  mournful  meditation  took  possession  of  him ;  days  of  silence  re- 

♦  Mr.  Taylor  Innes. 


CLO^^INO    YKAUS.  445 

vealed  the  deptli  of  his  sufferuig ;  and  it  was  only  by  fits  and  starts 
that  any  thing  like  composure  visited  his  heart.  Still  did  he  speak 
of  returning  to  his  labors  at  the  commencement  of  the  session;  and, 
in  order  to  regain  strength,  he  proposed  to  make  an  excursion  into 
the  Highlands,  provided  that  a  family  party  went  with  him.  There 
was  no  difficulty  in  arranging  this;  and  in  June,  accompanied  by 
his  two  eldest  daughters,  his  sons  John  and  Blair,  his  son-in-law 
Professor  Ferrier,  his  brother  James,  and  his  niece  Henrietta  Wilson, 
he  set  out  for  Luib ;  at  which  rendezvous  he  was  joined  by  Mr. 
Glassford  Bell  and  his  eldest  daughter.  Luib,  as  we  have  seen  from 
his  letter  in  1845,  is  a  pretty  wayside  hostelry  in  the  central  High- 
lands of  Perthshire,  about  seven  miles  beyond  Killin.  There  we 
encam])ed  for  a  fortnight,  encountering  such  caprices  of  weather  as 
generally  pass  over  tlie  mountain  districts  of  Scotland.  The  more 
adventurous  of  the  party  treated  the  weather  with  contempt,  taking 
long  walks.  Of  these  were  Mr.  James  Wilson  and  his  niece,  who 
wandered  over  large  stretches  of  ground  :  but  few  of  the  others 
could  compare  notes  of  adventure  with  them.  Had  my  father  been 
able  to  endure  fatigue,  we  too  would  have  had  something  to  boas*, 
of;  but  he  was  unable  to  do  more  than  loiter  by  the  river-side  close 
in  the  neighborhood  of  the  um — ^never  witiiout  his  rod.  Alas,  how 
changed  the  maimer  of  his  sport  from  that  of  his  prime  !  We  must 
make  use  of  his  own  illustration  as  he  speaks  of  the  past  and  present ; 
for  North's  exploits  in  angling  are  varied  enough  to  be  brought  for- 
ward at  any  point  of  his  life.     He  says  to  the  Shepherd : — 

"In  me  the  passion  of  the  sport  is  dead — or  say  rather  didl ;  yet 
have  I  gentle  enjoyment  still  in  the 'Angler's  silent  Trade.'"  So 
seemed  it  then  on  the  banks  of  the  Dochart. 

"But  Heavens,  my  dear  James!  How  in  youth,  and  prime  of 
manhood  too,  I  used  to  gallop  to  the  glens,  like  a  deer,  over  a  hun- 
dred heathery  hills,  to  devour  the  dark  rolling  river,  or  the  blue 
breezy  loch  !  How  leaped  my  heait  to  hear  the  thunder  of  the  near- 
ing  watertall !  and  lo,  yonder  flows,  at  last,  the  long  dim  shallow 
rippling  hazel-banked  line  of  music  among  the  broomy  braes,  all  astir 
■with  back-fii,s  on  its  surface;  and  now  the  feed  is  on,  teeming  with 
swift-shooting,  bright  bounding,  and  silver-shining  scaly  life,  most 
beauteous  to  behold,  at  every  soft  alighting  of  the  deceptive  line, 
captivating  and  irresistible  even  among  a  shower  of  natural  leaf-born 
tii.'S,  a  swarm  in  the  air  from  the  mountain  woods." 


4-16  mt:motr  of  john  wilson. 

A  picture  of  the  past  visiting  the  j^resent,  as  time  glides  on, 
making  more  pcrcej  tible  the  cruel  changes  which  come  to  mortal 
strength.  How  now  do  his  feet  touch  the  heather?  Not  as  of  old, 
with  a  boiinl,  but  with  slow  and  unsteady  step,  supported  on  the 
one  hand  by  his  stick,  while  the  other  carries  his  rod.  The  breeze 
gently  moves  his  locks,  no  longer  glittering  with  the  light  of  life, 
but  dimmed  by  its  decay.  Yet  are  his  shoulders  broad  and  unbent. 
The  lion-like  presence  is  somewhat  softened  down,  but  not  gone. 
He  surely  will  not  venture  into  the  deeps  of  the  water,  for  only  one 
hand  is  free  for  "a  cast,''  and  those  large  stones,  now  slippery  with 
moss,  are  dangerous  stumbling-blocks  in  the  way.  Besides,  he 
promised  his  daughters  he  would  not  wade,  but,  on  the  contrary, 
walk  quietly  with  them  by  the  river's  edge,  there  gliding  "at  its 
own  sweet  will."  Silvery  bands  of  pebbled  shore,  leading  to  loamy- 
colored  pools,  dark  as  the  glow  of  a  southern  eye,  how  could  he 
resist  the  temptation  of  near  approach  ?  In  he  goes,  up  to  the  ankles, 
then  to  the  knees,  tottering  every  other  step,  but  never  falling.  Trout 
after  trout  he  catches,  small  ones  certainly,  but  plenty  of  them. 
Into  his  pocket  with  them,  all  this  time  manoeuvring  in  the  most 
skilful  manner  both  stick  and  rod;  until  weary,  he  is  obliged  to  rest 
on  the  bank,  sitting  with  his  feet  in  the  water,  laughing  at  his 
daughters'  horror,  and  obstinately  continuing  the  sport  in  spite  of 
all  remonstrance.  At  last  he  gives  in,  and  retires.  Wonderful  to 
say,  he  did  not  seem  to  suffer  from  these  imprudent  liberties.  Occa- 
sionally he  was  contented  to  remain  away  from  the  water,  enjoying 
the  less  exciting  interest  of  watching  others.  His  son  John  delighted 
him  by  the  great  achievement  of  capturing  two  fine  salmon,  their 
united  weight  being  about  forty-five  pounds.  It  was  a  pleasant, 
holiday-lime.  There  was  no  lack  of  merriment,  and  though  my 
father  was  not  in  his  best  spirits,  he  rallied  now  and  then  from  the 
gloom  that  oppressed  him  at  the  outset  of  the  excursion. 

On  his  return  to  Edinburgh,  he  was  prevailed  on  by  his  brother 
Robert  to  pay  him  a  visit  at  Woodburn.  While  there,  the  painful 
question  of  his  retirement  from  public  life  was  agreed  on,  and  caused 
him  much  mental  distress.  He  sent  in  his  resignation,  after  thirty 
years'  service.  The  remaining  portion  of  this  autumn  was  spent  at 
Billholm.  His  retirement  from  active  life  was  a  step  that  interest- 
ed all  parties,  and  Government  was  not  backward  in  rewarding  the 
faithful  services  of  one  who,  though  not  of  their  party,  merited 


CLOSING    YEARS.  447 

grateful  consiJeration.  The  following  letters  will  explain  my 
words.  One  is  addressed  to  Sheriff  Gordon ;  the  other  to  James 
Moncreiff,  Esq.,  Lord  Advocate: — 

"  GwYDYR  House,  "Whitehall, 
August  30,  1851. 

"  My  dear  Gordon  : — The  enclosed  will  show  you  with  what 
great  cordiality  my  suggestion  has  been  received  by  Lord  John, 
and  this  post  conveys  directly  to  Professor  Wilson  an  intimation 
from  Lord  John  Russell,  conceived  in  terms  which,  I  think,  cannot 
fail  to  be  most  gratifying  to  him,  that  the  Queen  has  granted  him 
a  pension  of  £300  a  year.  I  have  sent  Lord  John's  letter  direct,  as 
I  think  it  will  in  that  way  best  bear  its  real  character  of  being  a 
spontaneous  tribute  by  the  Government  and  the  country. 

"  And  now  let  me  say  that  nothing  that  has  liappened  to  me  since 
I  held  office  has  given  me  so  much  real  pleasure  as  being  permitted 
to  convey  to  so  old  and  steadfast  a  friend  as  yourself,  intelligence 
Avhich  I  am  sure  must  greatly  gratify  you.  I  trust,  under  Provi- 
dence, it  may  be  fruitful  to  your  illustrious  relative  of  a  long  and 
honored  old  age,  and  of  comfort  and  happiness  to  all  your  circle. 
Believe  me  ever,  yours  very  sincerely,  J.  Moncreiff." 

"  HoLYROOD  Palace,  28th  August,  1851. 
"My  dear  Lord  Advocate  : — I  have  complied  at  once  with  your 
wishes,  and  immediately  obtained  the  Queen's  approbation.  I  send 
the  enclosed  letter  to  you,  that  there  may  be  no  unfair  suri)rise  in 
communicating  the  Queen's  intentions  to  Professor  Wilson.  Be  so 
good  as  to  take  care  that  this  letter  is  given  him  in  such  a  manner 
as  may  be  most  agreeable  to  his  feelings.     Yours  truly, 

"J.  Russell." 

As  soon  as  Mr.  Gordon  received  the  intelligence  that  it  had 
pleased  her  Majesty  to  bestow  her  bounty  on  Professor  Wilson,  he 
and  I  set  off  immediately  to  Billholra  as  messengers  of  the  pleasant 
news.  We  arrived  there  late  at  night,  and  found  every  one  in  bed. 
The  reason  for  our  sudden  appearance  was  not  long  in  being  made 
known,  and  in  a  short  time  the  whole  household  was  astir.  The 
Professor  rose  from  his  bed,  supper  was  set  out  before  us,  and  a 
very  joyful  repast  we  had ;  every  one  expressing  their  graterul 
pleasure  at  this  unexpected  recognition  of  his  public  services      We 


44:8  MEMOIR   OF  JOHN    WILSON. 

were  scarcely  inclined  to  retire  to  oiir  rooms,  and  remained  talking 
till  early  morning.  My  father  was  much  touched  by  the  delicate 
tact  of  Lord  Jolm  Russell's  communication  to  the  Lord  Advocate, 
couched  in  terms  indicative  of  a  tender  nobility  of  soul. 

I  know  not  if  the  acknowledgment  of  her  Majesty's  bounty  is  a 
fragment,  or  the  whole  of  a  letter  addressed  to  Earl  Russell,  but  it 
came  into  my  hands  lately,  and  as  being  written  by  my  father,  I 
imagine  it  was  a  copy  of  the  letter  sent,  or  at  least  part  of  it. 
Whatever  the  case  may  be,  it  will  at  least  be  interesting,  and  I 
therefore  give  it : — 

"  BiLLHOLM,  Langholm. 

"  My  Lord  : — That  her  Majesty  has  been  graciously  pleased  to 
bestow  on  me,  in  the  evening  of  my  life,  so  unexpected  a  mark  of 
her  bounty,  fills  my  heart  with  the  profoundest  gratitude,  which 
will  dwell  there  while  that  heart  continues  to  beat.  I  beg  your 
Lordship  to  lay  this  its  poor  expression  with  reverence  at  her 
Majesty's  feet. 

"For  your  kindly  sentiments  towards  my  professional  and  literary 
charactei',  I  would  return  such  acknowledgment  as  is  due  from 
one  who  knows  how  to  estimate  the  high  qualities  of  the  house  of 
Russell." 

TVe  remained  a  week  or  two  at  Billholm,  my  father  returning 
with  us  to  Edinburgh.  As  winter  approached,  many  a  thought 
crossed  his  heart  of  his  lost  labor,  and  cheerfulness  was  hard  to  keep 
up.  He  seemed  disinclined  for  any  sort  of  amusement,  and  remained 
within  doors  almost  entirely;  unable  to  find  pleasure  even  in  the 
pastimes  of  his  grandchildren,  at  one  time  so  great  an  amusement 
to  him.  Something  of  a  settled  melancholy  rested  on  his  spirit,  and 
for  days  he  would  scarcely  utter  a  word,  or  allow  a  smile  to  lighten 
up  his  face.  He  was  as  a  man  whose  "  whole  head  is  sick  and  the 
Avhole  heart  faint."  That  such  a  change  for  a  time  should  take  place, 
was  by  no  means  unnatural.  He  was  not  yet  stricken  in  years,  the 
glow  within  the  great  mind  was  still  strong,  but  the  pulses  of  life 
were  weak.  So  ardent  and  impulsive  a  nature  could  not  be  exjiected 
to  lay  aside  its  harness  without  a  pang.  Religion  alone  supj)orted 
him  in  the  solitude  of  that  altered  existence.  These  dark  clouds 
were  possibly  as  much  due  to  his  enfeebled  health  as  to  the  belief 
that  the  usefulne^is  of  his  life  was  over.     His  brother  Robert,  who 


CLOSING   YEARS.  449 

had  ever  lovea  him  wilh  the  tendeiest  affection,  and  who  sought 
by  every  means  to  soothe  his  spirit  unci  restore  his  health,  projjosed 
that  he  shoukl  again  make  his  house  a  home.  lie  did  so,  tal'ciiig  up 
his  abode  at  Woodbnrii,*  where,  from  the  closing  year  of  1851  un- 
til the  autumn  of  1852,  he  resided.  If  unwearied  care  and  devoted 
affection  could  have  stayed  the  increasing  malady,  which  with  cer- 
tain, though  often  invisible,  steps  was  wearing  him  away,  he  had 
never  died.  While  under  that  kind  roof,  there  were  many  days  of 
calm  happiness,  mingled  with  others  sad  enough.  The  restlessness 
attending  nervous  disease  is  almost  as  distressing  as  pain  ;  of  which 
I  believe  he  had  but  little  during  the  whole  course  of  his  decline. 
He  rallied  so  far  when  at  Woodburn  as  to  be  able  to  write  his  last 
papers  for  Blackwood^ s  Magazine — numbers  IX.  and  X.  of  "  Dies 
Boreales."  There  was  nothing  in  that  house  to  disturb  study  when 
he  was  inclined  for  it.  He  had  a  suite  of  rooms  to  himself;  no 
noise,  no  interruptions  molested  the  quiet  of  his  days.  Pleasant 
and  cheerful  faces  surrounded  him  at  a  moment's  notice.  His 
nieces  rallied  about  him  as  loving  daughters,  often  watching  thiough 
the  weary  hours  of  sleepless  nights  by  his  bed.>ide.  Nothing  was 
wanting,  yet  did  the  heart  "know  its  own  bitterness,"  in  those  mo- 
ments when  the  cruelty  of  his  disorder  laid  hold  of  his  spirits,  and 
plunged  him,  as  he  expressed  it,  into  a  state  of  "  hopeless  misery." 
"Nothing,"  he  said  to  me,  "can  give  you  an  idea  of  how  utterly 
wretched  I  am ;  my  mind  is  going,  I  feel  it."  Then  coming  directly 
to  the  burden  of  his  soul,  he  would  say,  "  Yes,  I  know  my  friends 
thought  me  unfit  to  hold  up  my  head  in  the  class  as  I  ought  to  do ;" 
then  continuing,  with  an  expression  of  profound  solemnity,  "I  have 
signed  ray  death-warrant ;  it  is  time  I  should  retire."  This  was  so 
evidently  a  morbid  state  of  feeling  induced  by  disease,  that,  dis- 
tressing as  it  was  to  those  who  witnessed  it,  one  could  not  but  feel 
satisfied  that  ere  long  it  Avould  pass  away,  and  a  more  placid  frame 
of  mind  ensue.  When  these  brighter  hours  came — which  they  did 
— nothing  could  be  more  delightful  than  his  aspect,  more  playfully 
charming  than  his  spirit.  He  scarcely  looked  like  an  invalid,  or 
one  who  would  be  tormented  by  the  fluctuations  of  moody  humors. 
Altogether  there  was  a  something  about  him  diffennt  from  his 
days  of  defiant  strength.  jNIassive  as  his  frame  still  remained,  its 
power  was  visibly  gone,  and  a  gentle  air  of  submission  had  takeu 

*  Mr.  U.  S.  Wilson's  residence,  n^ar  Dalkeith. 
19 


450  MEMOIR   OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

the  place  of  that  stately  bearing.  His  step,  that  '^nce  seemed  to 
ignore  the  ground  beneath  his  feet,  was  feeble  and  unsteady.  He 
no  longer  had  the  manner  of  one  who  challenged  the  inroads  of 
time.  In  these  moments  lie  presented  a  serene  and  beautiful  picture 
of  calm  and  genial  old  age.  He  had  not  lost  his  interest  in  outwnid 
things  nor  yet  in  those  of  literature.  He  writes  the  subjoined  i)l.iy- 
ful  note  to  his  son  Blair,  or  rather  causes  it  to  be  written.  The 
contents  of  it  are  evidence  of  how  he  intends  to  occupy  his  time: — 

"WooDEUTiN,  Dalkeith,  Ath  December,  1851. 

"  My  deak  Bi.air  : — Anne's*  fair  hand  holds  the  pen.  The  sup- 
ply of  books  was  most  accejjtable.  The  volume  of  Pascal  was  right; 
but  I  see  there  are  two  others  by  the  same  translator,  viz.,  vol.  1st, 
'Provinci;il  Letters;'  vol.  2d,  'Miscellaneous  Letters.'  Have  you  a 
translation  of  Cicero's  '  De  Finibus  ?'  Is  there  a  volume  on  Philoso- 
phy by  Price  or  Driiig?  also  by  one  Dymond,  a  Quaker?  also  by 
one  Oswald,  a  Scotchman  ?  Sir  William  Drummond's  'Academical 
Questions?'  That  vol.  of  Lord  Jeffrey's  collected  works  containing 
a  Review  of  Sir  Williana  Drummond  ?  That  vol.  of  Lord  Jeffrey's 
works  containing  a  Review  of  Bishop  Warburton  ?  Send  the  above 
to  my  brother  Robert.  Come  out,  if  convenient,  on  Saturday. 
Yours  affectionately,  Joun  "NVit-son. 

"  (Signed  by  order  of  the  Presbytery.) 

"jP.  S. — You  may  give  my  regards  to  Mary,  and  perhaps  to 
Gordon, — Golly,f  Adel,  Pa,  Charles  Dickens,  and  the  young  lady. 

"John  Wilson." 

He  also  kept  himself  au  courant  with  public  affiiirs  by  reading  the 
journals  of  the  day.  His  political  ardor  was  not  so  much  abated  as 
to  ])revent  him  from  expressing  his  sentiments  with  his  usual  ani- 
mation ;  and  ho  found  an  oj)portunity  of  giving  one  last  memorable 
proof  of  his  independence  and  magnanimity  of  spirit  in  favor  of  an 
illustrious  })olitical  adversary.  In  1852  the  representation  of  the 
city  of  E<linl)urgh  became  vacant  by  the  dissolution  of  Parliament. 
There  were  three  candidates,  and  one  of  them  was  Thomas  Babing- 
ton  Macaulay.  During  the  summer  the  Professor  was  more  than 
usually  feeble,  selilom  taking  exercise  out  of  doors,  but  preferring 

*  llis  niece,  the  eldest  daughter  of  Mr.  U.  S.  Wilson, 
t  llis  five  K^'i'i'lchildreu. 


CLOSING    YEARS.  451 

tt,  remain  in  his  own  room.  Possibly  the  hmgiior  of  disoase  made 
exertion  painful  to  him,  for  it  was  difficult  to  prevail  on  him,  in  the 
latter  portion  of  his  life,  to  drive  or  even  to  sii  in  the  open  air. 
Much  to  the  surprise  of  the  household,  he  one  morning  this  sum- 
mer exjiressed  a  desire  to  go  into  Edinburgh.  Urifortunatelv,  M". 
Wilson's  carriage  was  not  at  hand,  some  of  his  family  having  gone 
into  town  to  make  calls.  This  contretemps  it  was  suj^posed  would 
have  diverted  his  intention  to  another  day.  Not  so.  He  sent  to 
Dalkeith  for  a  conveyance,  and  on  its  arrival  set  off  with  his  servant 
upon  his  mission,  giving  no  hint  as  to  its  nature,  but  evidently  bent 
upon  something  of  the  most  engrossing  interest  and  anxiety  to  him- 
self On  arriving  in  Edinburgh  he  drove  to  Mr.  Blackwood's,  in 
George  Street,  to  rest  before  proceeding  farther.  Every  one  re- 
joiced to  see  him ;  and  as  he  drove  along  many  a  respectful  and 
glad  recognition  he  received,  people  wondering  if  he  had  come  to 
live  and  move  among  them  once  more.  But  what  had  brought  him 
through  the  dusty  roads  and  hot  midday  sun  ?  He  looked  wearied 
and  feeble  as  he  got  into  his  carriage  to  drive  away  from  George 
Street,  apparently  without  any  particular  object  in  view.  So  might 
it  have  been  said,  for  he  had  not  mentioned  to  any  one  what  had 
brought  him  so  far — far  for  an  invalid,  one  who  had  almost  risen 
from  a  sick-bed.  His  mysterious  mission  to  Edinburgh  was  to  give 
his  vote  for  Thomas  Babington  Macaulay.  When  he  entered  the 
Committee  room  in  St.  Vhicent  Street,  supported  by  his  servant,  a 
loud  and  long  cheer  was  given,  expressive  both  of  pleasure  at  seeing 
him,  and  of  admiration  at  the  disinterested  motive  which  had 
brought  him  there.  Mr.  Macaulay's  recognition  of  this  generou"* 
action  supplies  an  interesting  sequel  to  the  incident : — 

"  Royal  Hotel,  Cliptox, 
July  IG,  1852. 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Gordon  : — I  am  truly  grateful  for  your  kindness 
in  letting  me  know  how  generous  a  part  Professor  Wilson  acteil 
towards  me.  From  my  school-days,  when  I  delighted  in  the  Ide 
of  Palms  and  the  City  of  the  Plague,  I  have  admired  his  genius. 
Politics  at  a  later  period  made  us,  in  some  sense,  enemies.  But  1 
have  long  entertained  none  but  kind  feelings  towards  him,  and  his 
conduct  on  Tuesday  is  not  the  first  proof  which  he  has  given  that 
he  feels  kindly  towards  me.     I  hope  that  you  will  lot  him  kn,)w 


452  MEMOIR    OF    JOHN    WILSON. 

how  much  pleasure   and  how  much  pride  I  felt  when  I  learned  he 
had  ijiven  me  so  conspicuous  a  mark  of  his  esteem. 

"  With  many  thanks  for  your  congratulations,  believe  me,  yours 
most  truly,  T.  B.  Macaulay."* 

This  autumn  my  father's  hand  ceased  forever  from  work. 
Writing  had  now  become  a  painful  exertion,  and  nothing  shows  it 
more  than  his  manuscript.  The  i'ew  notes  he  wrote  at  this  time  to 
his  son  Blair,  and  now  lying  before  me,  are  almost  undecipherable, 
the  characters  evidently  written  by  ft  weak  and  trembling  hand. 
There  is  nothing  of  moment  in  any  of  them  ;  but  as  they  refer  to 
the  work  which  occupied  him  at  that  time,  I  subjoin  them  with  feel- 
mgs  of  painful  interest,  as  the  last  words  his  hand  ever  transcribed.! 

Few  as  the  words  of  these  notes  are,  we  can  perceive  that  his 
work  is  one  of  much  interest  to  him,  and  that  he  is  bestowing  the 
usual  care  on  its  preparation. 

There  is  only  one  passage  which  I  shall  make  use  of  from  these 
last  articles,  the  Dies  JSoreales.  Xot  because  it  is  so  beautiful  in 
itself,  but  by  reason  of  the  tender  character  of  the  subject.  That 
deep  and  lasting  love  whi("h  the  grave  did  not  destroy — the  lost 
image  of  his  wife — was  an  ever  present  tht'me  for  the  exercise  of 
his  soul's  submission.  Tempeied  though  his  sorrow  was,  he  carried 
it  in  the  recesses  of  his  heart  perpetually,  and  his  last  thoughts 
have  been  embalmed  in  this  tine  passage.  The  forloi-n  and  widow- 
ed heart  speaks  in  every  word : 

"  When  the  hand  of  Death  has  rent  in  one  moment  from  fond 

*  Besides  the  laudatory  critique  of  the  Lai/s  of  Ancient  Home  in  Blackwood,  for  December, 
1S42,  my  father,  unless  I  am  misinformed,  had  once  more  at  least  acted  a  Kenerous  part  to  a 
political  oppoiR-nt,  by  reviewinsf  "  Croker's  Criticisms"  on  Macaulay's  Engldiid,  in  two  letters 
adi'ressed  to  the  e<litor  of  the  Scolvman,  April  18th  and  2Sth,  1849,  signed  Aliqais. 

"  July  22(1. 
,  "Mv  Dear  I>laik: — I  took  from  Gloucester  Place  three  volumes  of  Milton,  of  which  one 
If  tbe  Second  volume  of  '  Paradise  Lost,'  ith  edition,  Thomas  Newton.     It  contains  the  first  six 
liooks,  and  the  note  and  letter.     The  first  volume  must  contain  the   first  si.\.     Can  you  get  it  for 
me,  and  send  it  out  without  delay  per  train  ?     Yours  affectionately,  J.  Wilson. 

'*  I  want  to  have  Addison's  Kssay  on  'Paradise  Lost.'  " 

"  WoonKtruM. 
"My  Dear  Blair: — Your  active  kindness  has  done  all  that  could  be  done  about  Milton 
j/ook  in  my  room  for  '  Payne,'  Knight's  '  Principle  of  Taste,'  and  for  Kames's  '  Klements.' 

"■  Yours  affectionately,  J.  Wilson." 

"  Woodhuun,  Thurftday  Afternoon. 
"Mt  Dear  Blair: — Call  at  Blackwood's  on  your  way  to  College  (on  Saturday),  and  ask  .John 
»r  the  Captain  if  they  have  a  parcel /w  me  at  Woodburn  from  the  printer'H  in  the  evening ;  U 
»o,  you  may  stay  and  bring  it  by  railway,  the  lati'st  one  going. 

•'  Yours  atfectiouatcly,  J.  WiLSON." 


CLOSING    YEAUS.  453 

affection  the  happiness  of  years,  and  seems  to  liave  left  to  it  1:0 
other  lot  upon  Earth  than  to  bleed  and  mourn,  then,  in  that  deso- 
lation of  the  spirit,  are  discovered  what  are  the  secret  powers  which 
it  bears  within  itself,  out  of  which  it  can  derive  consolation  and 
peace.  The  Mind,  toin  by  such  a  stroke  from  all  those  inferior 
human  sympathies  Avhich,  weak  and  powerless  when  compared  to 
its  own  sorrow,  can  afford  it  no  relief,  turns  itself  to  that  Sympa- 
thy which  is  without  bounds.  Ask  of  the  forlorn  and  widowed 
heart  what  is  the  calm  which  it  finds  in  those  hours  of  secret 
thought,  which  are  withdrawn  from  all  eyes  ?  Ask  what  is  that 
hidden  j)rocess  of  Nature  by  which  Grief  has  led  it  on  to  devo- 
tion ?  That  attraction  of  the  Soul  in  its  uttermost  earthly  distress 
to  a  source  of  consolation  remote  from  Earth,  is  not  to  be  ascribed 
to  a  Disposition  to  substitute  one  emotion  for  another,  as  if  it  hoped 
to  find  relief  in  dispelling  and  blotting  out  the  vain  passion  with 
which  it  labored  before  ;  but,  in  the  very  constitution  of  the  Soul, 
the  capacities  of  human  and  divine  affection  are  linked  together, 
and  it  is  the  very  depth  of  its  passion  that  leads  it  over  from  the 
one  to  the  other.  Nor  is  its  consolation  forgetfulness.  But  that 
affection  which  was  wounded  becomes  even  more  deep  and  tender 
in  the  midst  of  the  calm  which  it  attains."* 

All  earthly  things  now  wore  for  him  a  solemn  aspect.  His  mind 
was  evidently  inclined  to  meditate  upon  those  truths  by  which  re- 
ligion exalts  moi'al  perceptions,  and  to  bring  all  his  force  to  test 
how  he  could  elevate  the  soul's  aspirations  before  he  retired  from 
the  field  in  which  he  had  so  long  hibored.  lie  humbly  looked  in 
the  coming  days  of  darkness  for  the  light  that  rises  to  the  upright, 
and  hopefully  awaited  the  summons  that  should  call  him  to  rest 
from  his  labors,  and  enter  into  the  joy  of  his  Lord. 

He  remained  at  Woodburn  until  the  end  of  the  autumn  of  1852. 
Before  he  left  it  he  had  received  visits  from  various  old  friends. 
Among  the  last  was  his  old  partner  in  literature  and  all  the  wild 
audacities  of  its  then  unlicensed  liberty,  John  Gibson  Lockhart. 
Much  changed  he  was  ;  more  so  even  than  his  frieiul.  It  was  a 
kind  and  pleasant  meeting.  I  had  prepared  Mr.  Lockhart  to  find 
juy  father  greatly  altered,  as  we  drove  out  together.  He  after- 
wards told  me  he  saw  no  change  mentally,  but  considered  him  as 
bright  and  freat  as  ever.     Yet  time  had  done  much  to  destroy  tho 

*  Dies  Burealeti,  Aiigiist,  lbo2. 


454  MEMOIR    OF    JOHN    WILSON. 

fine  frame  of  tlie  one  ;  the  lieart-cnergies  and  interests  of  tlie  other  ; 
nor  could  it  be  but  a  nielanclu>ly  retrospect  Avliich  crossed  their 
thoughts  in  h)oking  back  to  llie  days  of  gigantic  strength  in  "  life's 
morning  marcli  when  the  spirit  was  young."  There  was  the  same 
contrast  between  them  as  of  yore,  attributable  to  the  different  cou- 
dition  of  their  mental  healtli.  The  indestructible  buoyancy  of  my 
father's  spirit  gave  to  his  rauul  an  almost  perennial  freshness,  and 
be  was  not  less  susceptible  to  emotions  of  joy  and  sorrow  than  in 
the  passionate  days  of  old.  But  now  all  within  was  tempered  by 
the  chastening  hand  of  time,  and  the  outward  expression  showed 
it.  Tiicre  was  no  more  exuberant  happiness,  but  a  peaceful  calm  ; 
no  violent  grief,  but  a  deep  solemnity.  Mr.  Lockhart,  on  the  other 
hand,  seemed  to  live  with  a  broken  heart,  while  all  about  bin)  had 
a  faded  and  dejected  air.  He  spoke  despondingly  of  himself. 
Health,  happiness,  and  energy,  he  said,  were  gone;  he  was  sick  of 
London,  its  whirl  and  its  excitements. 

"  I  would  fain  return  to  Edinburgh,"  he  said,  "  to  be  cheered  by 
some  of  your  young  happy  faces,  but  you  would  have  to  nurse  me, 
and  be  kind  to  me,  for  I  am  aweary  old  man,  fit  for  nothing  but  to 
shut  myself  up  and  be  sulky."  He  certainly  looked  very  much  out 
of  health  and  spirits  at  that  time;  indeed,  he  was  like  a  man 
weighed  down  by  inward  sorrow.  The  momentary  vivacity  which 
lightened  his  countenance  was  almost  more  painful  to  witness  than 
the  melancholy  natural  to  it.  Now  and  then,  some  of  the  old  sar- 
castic manner  came  across  him,  and  as  he  sat  at  the  writing-table, 
with  the  once  tempting  pen  and  ink  before  him,  one  could  fancy 
him  again  dashing  off-  one  of  those  grotesque  sketches  in  which  he 
had  delighted  to  commemorate  friends  and  foes.  But  the  stimulus 
was  gone.  A  few  hours  were  spent  together  by  these  old  friends, 
during  which  there  was  much  talk  of  bygone  days.  Tlviy  parted 
as  they  met,  with  kindness  and  affection,  expressing  hopes  that  re- 
newed health  might  enable  them  to  meet  again.  My  father  stood 
at  the  door  while  J^ockliart  got  into  his  carriage,  and  watched  him 
out  of  sight.     He  never  saw  him  again.* 

As  long  as  my  father's  mind  remained  unclouded,  he  continued  to 
take  an  interest  in  the  welfare  of  his  friends,  participating  with  uu- 
aftected  sincerity  in  their  pleasures,  and  rejoicing  in  their  afiection. 
The  following   little  note   to  Mr.  Robert   Findlay,  says  more  than 

♦  Mr.  Lockbii:  t  Jiid  ut  A '.jbotsforci.  Xovcmber  25,  1S54,  about  seveu  months  after  the  Prof'  aa  .i 


CLOSING    YEARS.  -l-oS 

many   words,  and  is  significant  of  tliat  love  wliich  was  so  large  an 

•  clement  of  bis  nature:* — 

j 

"  My  dkarest  Robert: — I  rejoice  in  my  soul  to  k-arn  that  your 
son  Charles  has  married  a  wife  to  his  own  entire  satisfaction,  and  I 
trust  to  his  father's,  mother's,  sisters',  and  brother's,  and  all  friends. 
Kindest  love  to  Mrs.  Findlay  and  the  rest.  God  bless  you,  and 
her,  and  them.     Much  love  in  few  words.     Your  friend  of  friends, 

"  J.  W." 

And  so  with  these  kind  words  he  took  farewell  of  the  friend,  the 
"  brothel","  of  his  youth.  What  thoughts  of  the  past  would  revisit 
his  memory  in  writing  that  liitle  missive,  we  can  imagine,  taking  him 
back  to  the  sunlit  hills  which  enclosed  the  home  of  his  prime,  from 
whence  his  "  friend  of  friends"  heard  of  a  wedding  morning,  bright 
as  the  good  deserve,  and  radiant  with  happiness ;  niore  serene, 
because  it  had  come  to  close  sorrow  long  and  stoutly  borne. 

A  yearning  for  home  still  lingered  amidst  the  fading  joys  of 
memory;  and  the  old  man,  standing  on  the  threshold  of  another 
life,  sighed  to  set  his  house  in  order.  He  must  return  to  Edin- 
burgh;  so,  bidding  adieu. to  the  kind  brother  who  had  so  gently 
met  all  the  caprices  of  his  illness,  and  to  whom  the  happier  condi- 
tion of  a  docile  spirit  had  endeared  him  more  than  ever,  he  left  the 
devoted  circle  of  that  household  towards  the  close  of  the  year  1852, 
and  once  again  established  himself  in  Gloucester  Place. 

For  the  first  few  months  after  his  return,  he  appeared  to  I'ally, 
and  gained  strength  ;  so  much  so  as  to  inspire  his  family  with  hopes 
that  better  days  were  yet  in  store  ;  but,  like  the  sudden  reanimation 
of  a  dying  light,  the  glow  proved  tremulous  and  uncertain.  Anx- 
iety and  watching  still  continued ;  the  gloom  and  depression  of  his 
mind  coming  and  going  from  time  to  time,  leaving  with  the  stni"-- 
gle  of  each  beating  Avave,  a  melancholy  evidence  that  a  wreck  lav 
there.  How  was  such  a  trial  borne  ?  As  all  others  had  been. 
Grief  deep  as  death  was  overcome  in  the  end  by  ))ationce.  Tl.at 
great  and  lustrous  miiul  felt  day  by  day  how  its  might  was  sinking ; 

*  Since  I  wrote  the  above  this  dear  fiiend  has  also  been  laid  in  his  grave.  Mr.  Robert  Findlay 
diid  on  the  2Tth  of  June,  1S6'2,  having  reached  the  advanced  as;e  of  seventy-eight.  As  one  of 
my  father's  earliest  and  dearest  friends,  I  would  have  respected  his  memory :  but  personal  knowl- 
edge of  his  high  worth,  and  all  those  amiable  qualities  which  endeared  him  to  his  family  and 
friends,  claims  expression  of  sorrow. 


456  MlOlom    OF   JOHN    WILSON. 

while  no  outward  complaint  came  to  tell  of  the  agony  witliln ;  but 
eflbrts  more  trying  and  peri)lexing  than  can  be  told  were  made  to 
test  the  amount  of  power  yet  remaining.  lie  wonld  read,  or  rathci" 
cause  to  be  read  aloud,  books  upon  the  same  subject,  as  differently 
treated  by  their  various  authors,  chapter  by  chapter.  Philosojjhical 
Works  were  tried  tirst,  but  confusion  was  the  result  of  tiiis  process 
of  inquiry,  as  to  liis  mental  strength.  The  attemjjt  was  too  nmch. 
With  a  sigh  of  despondency  the  volumes  were  laid  aside,  ordered 
to  be  taken  away,  and  were  not  again  brought  out.  A  short 
l^eriod  of  repose,  that  might  in  ordinary  cases  have  been  beuelicial, 
seemed  only  to  fret  and  disturb  him.  There  was  no  allaying  that 
long-fostered  passion  for  communion  with  the  immortals.  Thus, 
for  a  period  almost  covering  the  year,  were  such  afflicting  struggles 
continued.  Nothing  was  ever  seen  more  touching  than  the  gradual 
undoing  of  that  lofty  mind  ;  the  gradual  Avasting  of  that  powerful 
strength.  One  looked  on,  and  felt  as  David  did  of  old  when  the 
Lord's  anointed  fell.  "  How  are  the  mighty  fallen!"  weve  words 
that  sent  a  sound  as  a  solemn  dirge  to  our  heaits.  Yet  was  there 
no  rebellion  in  this  desire  to  hold  fast  the  gifts  that  were  his  from 
heaven:  who  would  part  willingly  with  suc!i  powers?* 

Such  usefulness  w'as  about  to  pass  away  :  he  had  parted  from 
"his  children."  In  the  silence  of  his  more  composed  hours,  God  be 
praised,  the  "  storm  was  tempered,"  and  a  quiet  sunshine  shed  its 
peaceful  radiance  over  his  spirit,  nor  have  I  reason  to  believe  th:it 
other  than  happy  thoughts  visited  him,  mingled  with  the  brightest 
and  most  joyous  of  the  past  —of  those  days  when  "  our  parish"  was 
little  less  than  Paradise  in  his  eyes. 

Certain  it  was  the  "Mearns"  came  among  tliose  waking  dreams, 
and  then  he  gathered  around  him,  when  the  spring  mornings  brought 
gay  jets  of  sunshine  into  the  little  room  where  he  lay,  the  relics  of 

♦  I  remember  having  once  heard  an  instance  of  liis  having  effected  a  happy  cure  in  a  case 
of  severe  mental  trouble.  The  subject  was  a  stiuk-nt  whom  he  had  recognized  as  showing 
{freat  promise  in  his  earlier  aireer,  but  whoso  subsequent  exertions  had  not  answered  his  ex- 
peetutions.  Inquiring  of  tUe  j'outh  the  cause  of  this  falling  off,  he  learned  that  his  mind  had  been 
overpowered,  as  many  are  on  entrance  into  thinking  life,  by  doubts  and  ditliculties  leading  to 
darkness  and  disbelief,  verging  in  despair.  Fitful  glimpses  of  light  had  crossed  his  dreary  path, 
but  still  he  found  no  comfort  or  rest.  The  Professor  listened  to  the  taleof  grief  with  tender  sym- 
pathy. His  steady  faith  and  long  expiHenee.  his  knowledge  of  how  doubts  and  fiars  assail  the 
hearts  even  of  the  high  and  pure,  enabled  hi.n  to  enter  into  the  very  depths  of  that  woo- stricken 
Boul.  With  words  of  wisdom  he  consoled  the  wandering  s])irit,  while  he  led  him  l)y  the  power 
of  persuasion,  the  force  of  truth,  and  the  tenderness  of  love,  to  the  clear  u]>per  light,  there  leaving 
him  to  the  blessing  of  the  Father.  The  clouds  broke  away,  and  the  day-spring  from  on  high 
revisited  that  darkened  spirit. 


CLOSING    YEARS.  457 

a  youthful  passion,  one  that  witli  him  never  grew  old.  It  was  an 
affecting  sight  to  see  him  busy,  nay,  quite  absorbed,  with  the  fishing- 
tackle  scattered  about  his  bed,  propped  up  with  ]>illows — his  noble 
head,  yet  glorious  with  its  flowing  locks,  carefully  combed  by  at- 
tentive hands,  and  falling  on  each  side  of  his  unfaded  face.  How 
neatly  he  picked  out  each  elegantly  dressed  fly  from  its  little  bunch, 
drawing  it  out  with  trembling  hand  along  the  white  coverlet,  and 
then,  replacing  it  in  his  pocket-book,  he  would  tell  ever  and  anon 
of  the  streams  he  used  to  fish  in  of  old,  and  of  the  deeds  he  had  per- 
formed in  his  childhood  and  youth.*  These  precious  relics  of  a  by- 
gone sport  were  wont  to  be  brouirht  out  in  the  early  spring,  long 
before  sickness  confined  him  to  his  room.  It  had  been  a  habit  of 
many  years,  but  then  the  "  sporting  jacket"  was  donned  soon  after, 
and  angling  was  no  more  a  mere  delightful  day-dreara,  but  a  reality, 
"that  took  him  knee-deep,  or  waistband-high,  through  river-feeding 
torrents,  to  the  glorious  music  of  his  rinming  and  ringing  reel." 
This  outward  life  was  at  an  end.  With  something  of  a  prophetic 
spirit  did  he  write  in  former  days,  when  he  affected  the  age  he  had 
not  attained — how  love  for  all  sports  would  live  in  his  heart  for- 
ever:  "Our  spirit  burns  within  us,  but  our  limbs  are  palsied,  and 
our  feet  must  brush  the  heather  no  more.  Lo  !  how  beautifully 
these  fast  travelling  pointers  do  their  work  on  that  black  mountain's 
breast !  intersecting  it  into  parallelograms,  and  squares,  and  circles, 
and  now  all  a  stoop  on  a  sudden,  as  if  frozen  to  death  !  Higher  up 
among  the  rocks,  and  cliff's,  and  stones,  we  see  a  stripling  whose 
ambition  it  is  to  strike  the  sky  with  his  forehead,  and  wet  his  hair 
ill  the  misty  cloud,  pursuing  the  ptarmigan  now  in  their  variegated 
suiiuner  dress,  seen  even  among  the  iinmelted  snows.  Never  shall 
Eld  deaden  our  sympathies  with  the  pastimes  of  our  fellow-men  any 
more  than  with  their  highest  raptures,  their  profoundest  griefs." 
Nor  did  he  belie  the  words. 

We  were  naturally  desirous  of  keeping  from  his  knowledge  any 
thing  that  would  surprise  hiin  into  agitation.  This  could  not,  how- 
ever, always  be  done,  for  family  distress,  as  a  matter  of  course,  he 
must  participate  in.  The  day  which  brought  us  intelligence  of  Mrs. 
.Uutherfurd's  death  was  one  of  startling  sorrow  to  him.     His  own 

*  A  year  or  two  earlier  he  writes  to  his  youngest  daughter: — "  I  took  stock,  ftnd  find  I  have 
fi)rly-fi)ur  dozen  inch  Hies  and  tilty-six  of  stream  flies.    Of  the  latter  six  dnzeu  are  well  adapted 
for  our  river;  but '  Lord  Saltuu'  is  neiirjy  done,  and  must  be  renewed.     Into  the  Yarrow  1  shall 
Uever  ajjain  throw  a  ily." 
ID* 


458  MEMOIU   OF   JOHN    WII.SOX. 

widowed  life  had  been  one  of  long  and  faithful  mourning;  and  tlio 
beroavemi'nt  which  liis  friend,  Lord  Ruthe:furd,  was  called  uiioii  to 
endure,  filled  his  mind  with  the  most  poignant  pain,  and  it  was  with 
difficulty  Irc  could  banish  the  subject  from  his  thoughts.  Other 
men's  sorrovrs,  in  the  unselfishness  of  his  nature,  he  made  his  own. 
More  unbounded  sympathy  I  never  knew.  Therein  lay  the  feminine 
delicacy  of  his  nature,  the  power  of  winning  all,  soothing  the  sad, 
encouraging  the  weak,  scorning  not  the  humble.  With  heart  and 
hand  alike  open,  he  knew  and  acted  up  to  the  meaning  of  one  sim- 
ple rule — Do  unto  others  as  ye  would  that  they  should  do  unto  you. 
So,  through  another  spring  into  summer,  and  once  again  to  the 
mellowed  autumn  and  winter  snows,  he  lingered  on  contented,  al- 
most cheerful,  but  also  sometimes  very  sad.  At  such  times  he  never 
spoke.  Can  we  doubt  that  these  visitations  of  solemnity  had  a 
meaning  ?  The  veil  which  it  had  pleased  God  to  draw  over  the 
greater  power  of  his  mind  had  not  left  it  Avithout  a  lesser  light.  He 
still  knew  and  loved  his  friends,  and  found  pleasure  in  their  occa- 
sional visits.  The  presence  of  his  children  and  his  grandchildren 
continued  to  cheer  and  interest  him  almost  to  the  end.  That  silence, 
so  incomprehensible  to  common  minds,  looking  too  often  for  conso- 
lation in  the  recited  words  of  Scripture,  which  they  convey  to  curi- 
ous ears  as  expressing  the  last  intei'est  and  hope  of  dying  hours, 
Avas  no  other  than  the  composing  of  his  spirit  with  the  unseen 
God. 

There  is  little  more  to  tell.  The  last  time  my  father  was  seen  of 
familiar  faces  was  on  the  13th  of  October,  1853.  I  drove  with  him 
to  Mr.  Alexander  Hill's  shop  in  Princes  Street,  in  order  to  see  a 
painting  of  Ileriings'  then  being  exhibited  tlu>re.  lie  did  not  take 
so  lively  an  interest  in  the  picture  as  I  had  anticipated,  but  soon 
grew  wearied,  and  evidently  unable  to  rouse  himself  from  a  certain 
air  of  indiiTerence  which,  when  disappointed,  he  generally  wore. 
Yet  he  was  not  always  untouched  by  the  etforts  which  love  made 
to  cheer  and  please  him ;  and  his  moistened  eye  told  more  than  a 
■'  ousand  words  how  he  felt  and  followed  the  little  entertainments 
A  up  for  this  end.  Young  children  were  at  all  times  attractive  to 
him,  and  though  now  unable  to  do  more  than  stroke  their  heads  or 
touch  their  little  hands,  still  he  loved  to  look  upon  them;  smiling  a 
gentle  adieu  when  their  prattle  became  too  much  for  him.  One  day 
I  thought  to  amuse  him  in  one  of  his  gloomy  moments  by  intro- 


CLOSING    TEAKS.  459 

ducing  his  youngest  grandchild,  some  four  years  of  agf.',  diessed  as 
"Little  Red  Riding-hood."  This  picturesque  smalt  figure,  in  a  scar- 
let cloak,  with  a  shock  of  long  curls  hanging  about  his  uieriy  face, 
made  his  entree  into  grandpapa's  room,  holding  up  in  his  chubby 
hands  a  basket  neatly  adorned  with  leaves,  ouy  of  which  peeped 
sticks  of  barley-sugar  and  other  bon-bons.  Trotting  to  the  bedside 
where  the  old  man  lay,  he  oftered  his  dainty  repast  with  a  sort  of 
shy  fear  that  the  wolf  was  actually  there,  and  was  greatly  relieved 
by  the  kind  caresses  and  good  welcome  he  received,  observing 
that  grandpa{)a's  hands  were  so  white,  and  that  he  never  once 
growled. 

The  tender  and  anxious  question  Avhich  he  asked  concerning 
Robert  Burns,  "Did  he  read  his  Bible?"  may,  perhaps,  by  some  be 
asked  about  himself  On  a  little  table,  near  his  bedside,  his  Bible 
lay  during  his  whole  illness,  and  was  read  morning  and  evening 
regularly.  His  servant  also  read  it  frequently  to  him.  In  the  strong 
days  of  his  prime,  he  wrote,  not  without  experience,  these  words 
in  reference  to  sacred  poetry : — 

"He  who  is  so  familiar  with  his  Bible,  that  each  chapter,  open  it 
where  he  will,  teems  with  household  words,  may  draw  thence  the 
theme  of  many  a  pleasant  and  pathetic  song.  For  is  not  all  human 
nature  and  all  human  life  shadowed  forth  in  those  pages  ?  But  the 
heart,  to  sing  well  from  the  Bible,  must  be  imbued  with  religious 
feelings,  as  a  flower  is  alternately  with  dew  and  sunshine.  The 
study  of  The  Booh  must  have  begun  in  th&  simplicity  of  childhood, 
when  it  was  felt  to  be  indeed  divine,  and  carried  on  through  all 
those  silent  intervals  in  which  the  soul  of  manhood  is  restored, 
during  the  din  of  life,  to  the  purity  and  peace  of  its  early  being. 
The  Bible  to  such  must  be  a  port,  even  as  the  sky — with  its  sun, 
moon,  and  stars — its  boundless  blue — with  all  its  cloud  mysteries — 
its  peace  deeper  than  the  grave,  because  of  realms  beyond  the 
grave — its  tumult  louder  than  that  of  life,  beca^fe  heard  altogether 
in  all  the  elements.  He  who  begins  the  study  of  the  Bible  late  in 
life  must,  indeed,  devote  himself  to  it  night  and  day,  and  with  a 
humble  and  a  contrite  heart,  as  well  as  an  awakened  and  soaring 
spirit,  ere  he  can  hope  to  feel  what  he  understands,  or  to  under- 
stand what  he  feels ;  thoughts  and  feelings  breathing  in  upon  him, 
as  if  fi-om  a  region  hanging,  in  its  mystery,  between  heaven  and 
earth." 


400  MEMOIR     >F    JOHN    WLLSON. 

On  Christinas  day,  1853,  he  assembled  around  him  his  enlir?  fam- 
ily, sons  and  dauc,fhters,  with  their  children,  to  spend  the  day  in  his 
honse.  It  was  almost  merry.  His  servant  decorated  the  rooms 
with  evergreens,  and  one  little  garland,  with  touching  love,  he  or- 
dered to  be  laid  on  his  wife's  picture,  which  hungover  the  chimney- 
piece  in  his  bedroom.  He  was  unable  to  dine  down-stairs,  but  we 
visited  him  after  diimer,  and  rejoiced  in  the  cheerfulness  that  lighted 
up  his  countenance.  It  seemed  a  harbinger  of  coming  peace,  and  we 
felt  no  strangeness  in  wishing  him  a  happy  Christmas,  nor  thought, 
as  we  gazed  upon  that  beautiful  face,  that  the  snows  of  another  such 
season  would  fall  upon  his  grave.  My  brother  John,  with  his  wife 
and  Same  of  his  infant  fiimily,  spent  this  Xew  Year  with  him.  This 
was  a  great  haj'j^iness  ;  and  for  some  time  the  old  fervor  and  anima- 
tion of  his  spirit  seemed  to  return.  They  remained  with  him  to  the 
end.  There  were  two  subjects  he  had  been  wont  to  dwell  on  with 
afftcting  tenderness — the  memory  of  his  wife,  and  his  beautiful 
home  on  Windermere.  Had  they  faded  from  his  vision  now,  or 
were  they  only  more  sacred  as  sights  now  connected  with  the  glo- 
ries of  another  world,  purified  in  his  thoughts  from  all  earthly  con- 
tact, renewed  in  spirit  and  in  beauty,  just  as  his  sight  was  about  to 
close,  and  his  heart  to  cease  from  participation  in  things  here  be- 
low ?  I  cannot  say,  but  the  name  of  "Jane"  and  of  "EUeray" 
never  more  escaped  his  lips. 

Another  spring  is  announced  amid  sunshine,  and  the  cheerful 
twittering  of  birds.  Even  in  towns  the  beautiful  influence  of  this 
season  is  felt,  for  the  very  air  has  caught  up  the  fresh  loamy  per- 
fume from  the  far-off  fields,  and  a  feeling  of  exhilaration  is  partici- 
pated in  by  all  creatures.  The  languid  invalid  is  not  indifferent  to 
this  emotion,  and,  with  reanimated  nature,  new  life  invigorates 
every  sentient  being.  And  so  did  we  hope  that  this  advent  of 
spring  would  cheer^and  for  a  time  console  the  heart  of  him  whose 
eyes,  yet  able  to  bflrr  the  light  of  day,  were  often  turned  from  the 
bed  where  he  lay  to  the  window,  as  if  he  wandered  again  in  the 
faintness  of  memory  to  the  freedom  of  outward  nature.  But  these 
impulses  were  gone,  and  the  activity  which  once  bore  him  gladly 
along  to  the  merry  music  of  streams  "  to  Hnger  by  the  silent  shores 
of  lochs,"  rested  now  forever.  On  the  1st  of  April  I  received  a 
message  tliat  my  father  had  become  worse.  I  hurried  immediately 
to  Gloucester  Place.     O.i  entering  the  room  a  sad  sight  caught  my 


CLOSING    YEARS. 


461 


eye.  He  had  risen  to  breakfast  much  in  his  usual  state  of  health, 
but,  -while  taking  it,  a  stroke  of  paralysis  seized  him.  When  I  ar- 
rived, his  bed  was  being  prepared  for  him,  and  lie  still  lay  in  his 
large  chair.  A  mortal  change  was  visible  over  his  whole  frame. 
The  shock  affected  one  entire  side,  from  his  face  downwards,  and  at 
that  moment  he  appeared  quite  unconscious.  We  laid  him  gently 
in  bed,  composing  that  still  poweiful-looking  body  as  comfortably 
as  possible,  and  in  a  few  moments  the  medical  attendants  arrived. 
There  was  no  hope  given  U8 ;  his  hour  had  come.  All  that  were 
near  and  dear  to  him  were  in  the  house.  Not  a  sound  was  heard 
but  the  lieavy  and  oppressed  breathing  of  the  dying  man.  No 
change  took  place  the  whole  of  that  day.  His  brother  Robert 
never  left  his  bedside,  but  sat  there  holding  the  big  hand,  now 
able  only  to  return  the  pressure  given  it ;  the  last  grateful  sign  of 
still  conscious  love. 

We  all  watched  through  the  night  while  some  hours  of  natural 
sleep  fell  upon  him.  Next  day  the  same  sad  scene  ;  no  change ; 
morning's  dawn  brought  no  comfort.  It  was  now  Sunday ;  time 
hurried  on,  and  we  still  hoped  he  knew  us  as  we  laid  our  hands 
upon  his,  but  he  was  unable  to  speak.  The  only  sign  we  had  that 
consciousness  had  not  left  him  was,  that  he  continued  to  summon 
his  servant,  according  to  his  old  habit,  by  knocking  upon  the  small 
table  at  his  bedside.  Several  times  during  the  day  he  made  that 
signal,  and  on  its  being  answered,  I  could  not  say  that  it  meant 
more  than  that  he  desired  his  servant  should  now  and  then  be  in 
the  room.  She  had  served  him  long,  faithfully,  and  with  a  true 
woman's  kindness.  It  was  the  only  way  in  which  he  could  thank 
her.  At  five  o'clock  his  breathing  became  more  difficult.  Evening 
sent  its  deepening  shadows  across  his  couch — darker  ones  were 
soon  to  follow.  Still  that  sad  and  heavy  breathing,  as  if  life  were 
unwilling  to  quit  the  strong  heart.  Towards  midnight  he  passed 
his  hand  frequently  across  his  eyes  and  head,  as  if  to  remove  some- 
thing obstructing  his  vision.  A  bitter  expression  for  one  instant 
crossed  his  face — the  veil  Avas  being  drawn  down.  A  moment 
more,  and  as  the  clock  chimed  the  hour  of  twelve,  that  heaving 
heart  was  still. 

The  following  lines  came  into  my  hands  after  ray  father's  death. 
They  were  written  in  youth;  but  the  fact  that  his  prayer  was  grant 


462  MEMOIR    OF    JOHN    WILSON. 

ed,  makes  these  beautiful  words,  as  it  were,  the  parting  fare'^vell 
which  his  Ups  were  not  permitted  to  utter  to  those  he  loved : — 

"  When  nature  feels  the  solemn  hour  is  come 

That  parts  the  spirit  from  her  mortal  clay, 
May  that  hour  find  me  in  my  \s'eeping  home, 

'Mid  the  blest  stillness  of  a  Sabbath-day! 

May  none  I  deeply  love  be  then  away ; 
For  through  my  heart  the  husht  though  sobbing  breath 

Of  natural  grief  a  holy  calm  will  send ; 

With  sighs  from  earth  will  heavenly  voices  blend. 
Till,  as  on  seraph  fair,  I  smile  on  death. 

Who  comes  in  peace,  like  an  expected  friend. 
Dipt  in  celestial  hues  the  wings  of  love 

Will  o'er  my  soul  a  gracious  shade  extend  ; 
Wliilo,  as  if  air  were  sun,  gleams  from  above 

The  day  with  God,  the  Sabbath  without  end  1" 


I 


APPENDIX 


I. 

PUBLIC  FUNERAL  AND  PROPOSED  STATUE, 

I  AM  indebted  for  the  following  account  to  a  friend : — 

"On  the  7th  of  April,  1854,  the  mortal  remains  of  Professor  Wilson  were  laic 
in  the  Dean  Cemetery.  Seldom  has  such  a  procession  wended  through  the  streets 
of  Edinburgh  as  passed,  in  ihe  soft  sunshine  of  that  April  afternoon,  from  Glouces- 
ter Place  up  Doime  Terrace,  Moray  Place,  and  Randolph  Crescent,  on  to  that  lovely 
sequestered  ground,  where  now  repose  a  goodly  company  of  men  whose  names  will 
not  soon  die — Jeffiey,  Cockburn,  Rutherfurd,  Thomas  Thomson,  Edward  Forbes, 
David  Scott,  John  Wilson,  and  his  well-loved  brother  James.  Students  were  there 
from  many  a  distant  place,  who  had  come  to  pay  the  last  tribute  to  'the  Professor,' 
whom  they  loved,  and,  for  old  Scotland's  sake,  were  so  proud  of.  Tears  were  shed 
by  manly  eyes ;  and  none  were  there  who  did  not  feel  that  the  earth  closed,  that 
day,  over  such  a  man  as  the  world  will  not  soon  see  again. 

"That  Edinburgh,  ricli  in  monuments  for  a  northern  city,  should  unhesitatingly 
determine  to  add  to  these  a  statue  of  John  Wilson,  was  most  fitting  and  natural. 
The  resolution  was  not  only  at  once  formed,  but  speedily  acted  upon.  Shortly  after 
his  death  a  public  meeting  was  held,  the  Lord  Provost  (M'Laren)  presiding,  at 
which  it  was  formally  resolved  that  such  a  statue  should  be  erected  '  on  a  suitable 
and  conspicuous  site.'  A  committee  was  appointed  with  that  view,  consisting  of  the 
Right  lion,  the  Lord  Justice-General  (M'Neill),  Lord  Neaves,  Sir  John  Watsox 
Gordon,  P.  R.  S.  A.,  R.  A.,  Mr.  John  Blackwood,  Mr.  Robert  Chambers,  JSIr.  P.  S. 
Fraser,  and  Dr.  John  Biirt.  Much  time  was  necessarily  occupied  in  the  receipt  of 
subscriptions,  and  other  arrangements;  but  early  in  1857,  the  committee  found 
themselves  in  a  position  to  commission  Mr.  John  Steell,  R.  S.  A.,  Her  Majesty's 
Sculptor  for  Scotland,  to  execute  a  bronze  statue,  ten  feet  in  height,  with  a  suitable 
pedestal,  to  be  placed  at  the  north-west  corner  of  East  Princes  Street  Gardens. 
The  statue  is  now  approaching  completion:  and  will  be  erected  on  the  appointed 
site  a  few  months  hence.  As  the  work  has  not  yet,  however,  left  the  artist's 
studio — has  not,  indeed,  received  the  final  touches  from  his  hands — it  would  be 
presumptuous  to  speak  of  it  further  than  to  say  that  it  promises  to  prove  worthy 
alike  of  the  sculptor,  of  his  noble  subject,  and  of  the  very  'suitable  and  conspic- 
uous site'  it  is  destined  to  occujiy.  In  a  representation  of  a  man  whose  notable 
poi'son  is  so  fresh  in  the  recollection  of  many  hundreds  of  his  fellow-citizens,  exact 


464  APPENDIX. 

portraiture  was  indispensable;  and  it  was  well  that  the  sculptor,  In  presenting  to 
us  that  memorable  figure  in  his  habit  as  he  lived,  was  able  also,  even  by  faithful  ad- 
herence to  tliat  habit,  to  attain  much  of  the  heroic  element.  The  careless  ease  of 
Professor  "Wilson's  ordinaiy  dress  is  adopted,  with  scarcely  a  touch  of  artistic 
license,  in  the  statue ;  a  plaid,  which  he  was  in  the  frequent  habit  of  wearing,  sup- 
lilies  the  needed  folds  of  irapery,  and  the  trunk  of  a  palm-tree  gives  a  rest  to  the 
figure,  while  it  indicates,  commemorativcly,  his  principal  poetical  work.  The  lion- 
like head  and  face,  full  of  mental  and  muscular  power,  thrown  shghtly  upward  and 
backward,  express  fervid  and  impulsive  genius  evolving  itself  in  free  and  fruitful 
thought — the  glow  of  poetical  inspiration  animating  every  feature.  The  figure,  tall, 
massive,  athletic;  the  hands — the  right  grasping  a  pen,  at  the  same  time  clutcliing 
the  plaid  that  hangs  across  the  chest,  the  left  resting  negligently  in  the  leaves  of  a 
half-open  manuscript ;  the  limbs,  loosely  planted,  yet  firm  and  vigorous ; — all  cor- 
respond with  the  grandly  elevated  expression  of  the  countenance.  To  his  contem- 
poraries the  statue  will  vividly  recall  Professor  Wilson,  at  once  in  his  everyday  as- 
pect, and  as  he  was  wont  to  appear  in  his  class-room  or  on  the  platform,  in  the  very 
fervor  of  his  often  fiery  oratory;  while  to  succeeding  times  it  will  preserve  a  vivid 
and  worthy  representation  of  one  who,  apart  from  all  his  other  claims  to  such  com- 
memoration, was  universally  recognized  as  one  of  the  most  striking,  poetic,  and 
noble-looking  men  of  his  illustrious  time." 


II. 

CORRESPONDENCE  RELATING  TO  JANUS.* 

Me.  Lockhart  to  Mr.  Boyd. 

"  Chikpswood,  4th  September. 
"  Dear  Sir  : — I  am  much  surprised  at  the  Professor's  silence.     However,  time 
must  not  be  lost  needlessly,  so  I  .send  you  to  be  put  up  in  slips,  1st,  '  Thoughts  on 
Bores,'  which  paper  is  by  Miss  Edgeworth,  who,  I  believe,  will  allow  that  to  be 
said  when  you  publish  )'our  volume. 

"  2d,  Hints  on  the  Universities ;  .3d,  Rabbinical  Apologue ;  4th,  Maxims  from 
Goethe;  5th,  Ordeal  by  Fire  ;  6th,  Five  Sonnets  from  the  German. 

"  I  have  chosen  these  as  they  would  illustrate  the  different  methods  of  printing 
to  be  employed  in  the  book.  You  will  consult  only  your  own  convenience  as  to 
your  choice  of  that,  or  those  to  be  put  in  slips  at  present. 

"  Yours  truly, 

"  J.  G.  L." 
Wilson  to  the  Same. 

"  Wednesday,  Two  o'clock. 
"Dear  Sir: — I  send  the  revised  sheets  corrected  for  press.    I  have  seen  Mr. 
Lockhart,  and  find  you  have  an  Arabian  tale  of  his  in  hand,  which  put  in  any- 

•  ■■'  Janus,  or  the  Edinburgh  Literary  Almanac."    Oliver  &  Boyd,  1826.    Foolscap,  8vo. 


I 


APPENDIX.  46  5 

where  you  choose,  either  after  or  before  the  order  I  gave  you  in  my  last  note.  The 
Bohemian  Gardener'  is  not  finished,  I  understand,  so  it  can  go  in  afterwards.  Do 
not  set  into  form  the  Sceptical  Estimate  of  the  Fine  Arts.  Mr.  Lockhart  leaves 
town  to-morrow,  and  I  believe  he  intends  to  alter  a  little  the  poem  on  Lord  Byron 
Brown  on  Beauty  may  be  put  into  forms ;  a  few  corrections  will  be  made  on  it. 
Make  a  new  paragraph  near  the  beginning,  '  When  we  speak  of  the  emotion,'  &c. 

"  Tours  truly, 

"  J.  "Wilson." 

"Wilson  to  Mr.  Boyd. 

"  Ellerat,  Kendal, 
Thursday,  6th  October,  1825. 

"  Dear  Sir  : — Along  with  this  you  will  receive  three  papers,  two  of  them  com- 
plete, and  one  not  so.  The  incomplete  one  is  '  Poetry  and  Prose,'  of  which  I  will 
send  the  conclusion  in  a  few  days  along  with  a  quantity  of  matter. 

"  Whatever  arrangement  Mr.  Lockhart  may  have  made  about  the  upmaking  of 
the  articles,  you  will  follow  it.  If  he  has  made  no  arrangement  final  and  decisive, 
then  I  think  his  own  '  Hints'  would  open  the  volume  as  well  or  better  than  any 
thing  else,  being  excellent  in  itself,  and  on  a  subject  of  great  interest ;  then  might 
follow  the  other  articles  sent  by  him  indifferently,  or  in  any  order.  After  these 
may  come  my  two  papers  entitled  '  Rise  and  Decline  of  Nations,'  and  on  the  '  Prime 
Objects  of  Government,'  which  set  up  into  forms,  and  send  to  me  without  delay 
per  mail,  letting  me  know,  by  letter,  the  day  they  leave  Edinburgh. 

"  They  shall  be  returned  instantly,  corrected  for  press.  Send  also  the  incom- 
plete Essay  on  Poetry  and  Prose  along  with  them.  I  shall  leave  Elleray  on  the 
27th,  and  be  in  Edinburgh  on  the  29ih ;  but  you  had  better  send  me  the  articles 
without  delay,  as  you  will  be  receiving  copy  from  me  before  I  come  down,  and 
instantly  after.  I  shall  send  four  short  tales  in  the  manner  of  '  Lights  and  Shadows,' 
which  you  will  make  up  as  they  arrive,  either  after  my  other  articles  or  on  any 
other  plan,  for  the  order  signifies  nothing.  Owing  to  the  lengtli  of  several  of  the 
articles,  the  volume  should  be  530  pages,  that  shorter  and  lighter  articles  may  have 
room.  The  volume  will  conclude  with  a  poem  of  mine  in  four  parts,  of  a  romantic 
character,  of  which  I  will  send  you  the  first  part  along  with  my  next  packet. 

"  I  have  written  to  Mr.  Lockhart  by  this  day's  post,  informing  him  of  the  con- 
tents of  thi§  letter. 

"  Yours  very  truly, 

"John  "Wilson." 

The  Same  to  the  Same. 

"Ellerat,  IGth  October,  1825. 
"  Dear  Sir  : — Yesterday  I  sent  per  coach  three  articles  for  Janv.<!,  and  I  have 
got  so  many  more  finished,  or  in  hand,  that  I  wish  to  see  Mr.  Lockhart  before  I 
send  them  to  you. 

"  I  am  not  without  hopes  of  seeing  him  hero  in  a  few  days;  but,  at  all  events, 
shall  know  what  articles  he  has  done  in  addition  to  those  he  sent  you.  From 
the  list  of  articles  he  sent  mo  a  few  ilays  ago,  which  he  is  doing,  or  to  do,  and 
from  those  I  have  in  hand,  the  volume  cannot  easily  be  less  than  5J0  pages, 


466  ATPEXBIX. 

which,  since  there  are  to  be  no  embellishments,  mar  probably  be  got  up  so  as  to  sell 
at  the  price  you  would  like  to  fix.  I  shall  be  in  Edinburgh  on  the  29th,  and  the 
printing  may  then  go  on  as  rapidly  as  you  choose,  as  I  shall  have  more  copy  than 
can  be  used  for  this  volume. 

"You  will  oblige  me  greatly  by  sending  me  a  bill  for  £150,  which  I  could  dis- 
count at  Kendal,  at  Messrs.  Wakefield.  Tliis  would  be  a  great  convenience  for 
me,  just  at  present,  on  the  eve  of  my  leaving  the  neighborhood.  This  request  is 
rather  before  date,  but  I  will  send  my  receipt  for  the  money,  and  in  final  settle- 
ment consider  the  former. 

"  As  I  leave  this  on  Thursday,  the  27tli,  I  hope  to  hear  from  you  a  few  days 
before  in  answer  to  this 

"  I  am,  my  dear  sir,  yours  very  truly, 

"JoHs  Wilson." 

Mr.  Lockhaet  to  Mr.  Boyd. 

"  CiHEFSWOOD,  Saturday  Evening. 

"  Mt  dear  Sm : — ^I  was  just  about  to  lose  all  patience,  or  to  take  it  for  granted 
the  Professor  was  defunct,  when  I  received  this  evening  a  letter  from  him,  in 
which  he  announces  his  having  sent  to  you  thrte  articles,  and  his  mtention  to  send 
more  in  a  few  days.  He  also  says  he  has  told  you  to  begin  the  volume  with 
my  '  Hints  on  Universities.'  Since  he  tlunks  so,  so  be  it.  After  the  '  Hints,' 
please  set  up  in  the  following  order : — 

"  Article  2.  Ordeal  by  Fire ;  3.  Specimens  of  the  Rabbin  Apologue ;  4.  Sonnets 
from  the  German ;  5.  Thou  hts  on  Bores ;  6.  Maxims,  after  which  (as  mentioned 
on  the  sUp)  the  httle  article  '  Leaves,'  now  sent ;  7.  Then  set  up  one  of  the  Pro- 
fessor's articles,  a  longish  one,  whichever  of  the  three  you  hke;  8.  Then  the 
Friesland  Proverbs,  now  sent ;  9.  Moustache,  now  sent ;  10.  The  Player  and  his 
Poodle,  now  sent;  11.  The  Return,  from  Goethe,  now  sent ;  12.  Jews  of  Worms, 
now  sent;  13.  Another  of  Mr.  Wilson's  articles,  now  sent;  14.  To  Death,  from 
the  German,  now  sent;  15.  Glasgow  Revisited,  now  sent;  16.  Maclean  of  Aros, 
now  sent ;  IT.  Serenade,  from  Goethe,  now  sent;  18.  Another  of  the  Professor's 
articles,  now  sent;  19.  Song  of  the  Gipsy  King,  now  sent;  20.  Inscription  at 
Hoch-heim,  now  sent;  21.  Epitaph  of  De  Ranzau,  now  sent;  22.  Epigrams,  now 
sent ;    23.  Essence  of  the  Opera,  now  sent ;    24.  Ballad  from  the  Xorman  French. 

"  In  regard  to  all  these  you  need  not  bother  yourself  with  slips,  but  set  up  in 
sheets.  That  sent  as  specimen  is  most  beautiful,  and  I  never  saw  proofs  that 
needed  so  Utt'.e  correction.  I  am  called  from  home  for  some  days,  but  if  I  be 
not  back  very  soon  I  shall  let  you  know  where  to  address  (when  I  am  concerned 
with  the  correcting  of  them).  In  the  mean  time,  don't  send  any  to  this  place  until 
you  hear  from  me.  I  have  corrected  the  proofs  formerly  sent,  so  that  you  may  at 
once  go  on  as  merrily  as  you  choose. 

"  Of  course  you  will  send  the  Professor  proofs  of  every  thing. 

"  Yours  truly, 

"  J.  G.  Lockhaet. 

"From  Mr.  Wilson,  17th  October,  1S25:— 

"  JLntipathies ;  Dante  and  Milton ;  on  the  character  Buonapartda" 


APPENDIX.  467 

Wilson  to  the  Same. 

"Elleray,  Saturday,  Ortoher  22,  1825. 

"Dear  Sir: — Manj-  thanks  for  your  kind  letter,  and  cuclo-sure  of  £150  on  ac- 
count of  Janus. 

"  In  sheet  6,  I  agree  with  the  compositor  that  the  white  lines  should  be  taken 
out.  Fill  up  the  space  with  the  '  Player  and  Poodle,'  and  '  The  Return.'  After 
the  article  on  the  Rise  and  FaO  of  Nations,  '  German  Sonnets,'  and  a  pretty  poem 
in  print,  now  sent;  then  on  the  '  Prime  Objects  of  Government ;'  tlien  Milton  and 
Dante,  Buonaparte,  and  Antipathies,  and  any  other  short  articles.  These  last  three 
I  have  not  yet  received,  but  put  them  into  forms,  for  very  few  corrections  will  be 
made  on  them.  Then  prose  and  poetry,  which  I  now  return  corrected,  and  without 
any  addition,  as  the  intended  conclusion  forms  another  article,  which  I  now  send 
incomplete,  entitled  '  Sceptical  Estimate  of  the  Fine  Arts,' wliich  put  int<»  slips. 
'  Brown  on  Beauty,'  now  sent,  j'ou  will  put  up  into  forms  after  the  other  mentioned. 
That  will  bring  the  forms  to  about  240  pages,  I  suspect.  I  will  send  more  ilS. 
without  much  delay.  The  order  I  have  sent  of  the  short  articles  is  of  no  con- 
sequence, if  you  have  set  up  in  forms  in  any  other  order ;  but  keep  it  if  you  have 
not.  The  next  60  pages  will  be  pathetic  and  picturesque  tales.  After  that,  50 
pages  of  lively  articles,  all  written  by  me.  Mr.  Lockhart  will  then  contribute  a 
hundred  pages  of  excellent  articles,  and  the  remainder  also  I  expect  will  be  good. 
The  volume  should  not  be  less  than  550  pages,  which  I  hope  you  can  afford  at 
twelve  shillings.  I  delaj^ed  writing  for  two  posts,  in  hopes  of  getting  the  three 
aiticlcs,  but  they  have  not  come  to  hand.  I  will  be  in  Edinburgh  on  the  29th,  in 
my  house  in  Gloucester  place,  so  send  nothing  here  after  receipt  of  this. 

"  I  am,  dear  sir,  yours  truly, 

"  Joiix  "Wilson." 

"Wilson  to  Mr.  Boyd. 

"Gloucester  Place,  2d  Ktvemler,  1825. 

"Dear  Sir: — I  got  home  this  evening,  after  a  melancholy  delay  of  some  days 
at  Hawick,  owing  to  the  sudden  and  alarming  illness  of  Mrs.  "Wilson.  Thank  God, 
she  is  wonderfully  recovered,  and  restored  to  a  state  free  from  all  danger. 

"  I  shall  correct  all  revises  to-morrow,  and  send  them  to  you  before  dinner. 

"  I  send  you  some  more  MS.,  namely,  '  Pins,'  '  Antiquity,'  '  Love  Poetry,' '  Preface 
to  any  New  Work  of  Imagination.'  These  may  go  into  forms  forthwith  after 
'  Beaut}^'  '  Medals,'  and  the  two  poems  in  the  same  hand,  from  some  quarter  un- 
known to  me,  you  had  better  put  up  after  the  articles  before  mentioned,  and  in 
forms  at  once.  They  are  good  articles,  and  such  a  correspondent  deserves  en- 
couragement. The  other  articles  are  not  good,  but  I  know  the  quarter  from  which 
one  of  them  comes,  and  will  write  to  the  author,  who  is  a  man  of  genius.  By  tho 
time  the  MS.  now  sent  is  in  types,  I  shall  send  you  more ;  and  I  have  reason  to  think 
what  will  add  greatly  to  the  value  of  Janus.  Remember  not  to  scrimp  it,  and  I 
presume  it  will  be  in  time  if  shipped  by  the  end  of  the  month.  I  shall  see  Mr. 
Lockhart  to-morrow  at  one  o'clock. 

"  Wtdnesday  Morning. — I  wrote  this  last  night. 

"  Yours  truly,  J.  "Wilson." 


46S  APPENDi:^. 

To  THE  Same. 

"  nth  Nbi-ember,  1826. 
"  De.vr  Sir  : — T  have  hardly  liad  a  moment  to  myself  since  I  saw  you,  but  hope 
in  two  days  or  so  to  have  a  little  leisure.     I  have  corrected  or  looked  at  the  two 
poems.  You  will  correct  A's  sheets  b^'  his  MS.    No  word  yet  from  the  Opium-Eater. 
"  I  hope  to  send  some  MS.  in  a  couple  of  days,  as  not  much  time  now  remains. 

"  Yours  truly, 

"John  "Wilson." 

To  THE  Samd. 

"Dear  Sir: — Set  up  as  much  of  the  enclosed  as  will  finish  the  half-sheet  in 
question.  Send  the  half-sheet  itself  to-morrow  to  the  class-room,  at  one  o'clock, 
for  correction,  and  along  with  it  all  the  enclosed  MS.,  for  I  want  it  to  go  on  with. 

"  Yours  truly, 

"  J.  Wilson. 
"  Thursday,  nVi  November,  1825. — P.  S. — I  will  send  back  the  other  things  to- 
morrow, for  I  cannot  lay  my  hands  on  them  just  now." 

To  THE  Same. 

"  2lst  November,  1S25. 
"Dear  Sir: — I  send  the  conclusion  of  the  tale  (Miles  Atherton).     After  it,  set 
up  'Ilaco's  Grave,'  the  'Home  Star,'  'To  the  Spirit  of  Healtli,'  'Genius.'    After 
these  a  paper  now  sent  about  Cambridge.     The  paper  on  '  Crusades'  I  wish  put 
into  slips.     The  other  may  go  into  forms  at  once. 

"  Yours  truly, 

"  J.  Wilson." 

To  THE  Same. 

"  6  Gloucester  Place, 
26th  November,  1825, 
"  My  dear  Sir: — I  have  been  hindered  by  many  causes,  among  the  worst  my 
wife's  indisposition,  from  doing  what  I  intended.  I  am  in  daily  expectation  of 
hearing  from  Mr.  Lockhart  of  the  Opium-Eater.  I  can  have  now  no  hope.  I  shall 
do  four  Lights  and  Shadows,  and  Mr.  Lockhart  will  be  sending  in  something  good 
to  conclude.     Send  down  to-morrow  night,  and  you  will  get  whatever  is  ready. 

"  Yours  truly, 

"  John  Wilson." 

To  THE  Same. 

"  28(71  November,  1825. 
"  Dear  Sir  : — Enclosed  is  the  corrected  sheet,  also  three  articles.     The  first, 
entitled  '  Action  and  Thought,'  will  follow  what  is  already  in  hand. 

"  Neithei   of  the  other  two  articles,  '  Country  Life'  and  '  Something  Scottish,'  is 
finished,  but  set  them  up.  and  the  conclusiou  will  bo  sent  to  j'ou  in  the  afternoon. 

"  Yours  truly, 

"J.  W." 


APPENDIX. 


469 


To  THE  Same. 

"  28th  November,  1825. 
"  Dkae  Sir  : — I  send  corrected  slips.     After  it  set  up  the  article  on  the  '  Study 
of  History,'  on  which  I  took  much  pains  for  another  work  that  will  not  bo  gone 
on  with.     After  it  the  other  article  now  sent. 

"  Then  will  come  four  stories,  making  about  twenty-six  pages  ;  and  Mr.  Lock 
hart,  I  hope,  will  send  what  will  conclude  the  tottle  (with  550)  of  the  whole.  I 
have  been  cruelly  interrupted  in  all  my  work  by  Mrs.  Wilson's  indisposition.  But 
Bhe  is  pretty  well  to-day.     Yours  truly,  J.  W." 


CONTENTS. 


Hints  concemmg  the  Universities. 

Church  Service  for  the  Ordeal  by  Fire. 

Specimens  of  the  Rabbinical  Apologue. 

Sonnets  from  the  German  of  Gliick. 

Thoughts  on  Bores. 

Maxims — from  Goethe. 

Leaves. 

On  the  Rise  and  Decline  of  Nations. 

Old  Freezeland  Proverbs. 

Moustache. 

The  Player  and  his  Poodle. 

The  Return — from  Goethe. 

The  Jews  of  Worms  in  the  year  1348. 

Marco  Bozzaris. 

On  the  Prime  Objects  of  Government. 

Dante  and  Milton. 

Napoleon. 

Antipathies. 

To  Death — from  the  German  of  Gliick. 

Glasgow  Revisited. 

Lament  for  Maclean  of  Aros. 

Serenade — from  Goethe. 

Poetry  and  Prose. 

Song  of  the  Gypsy  King. 

Inscription  on  a  Tombstone  in  the  Ch  irch- 

yard  at  Hoch-heim. 
The  Epitaph  of  De  Ranzau. 
Epigrams,  &c. 
The  Essence  of  Opera. 
Song  from  the  Norman- French. 
The  History  of  Alischar  and  Smaragdine- 


The  Western  Campaign. 

Brown  on  Beauty. 

Antiquity. 

Pins. 

Love  Poetry. 

A  Preface  that  may  serve  for  all  Modern 

Works  of  Lnagination. 
Medals,  or  Obverses  and  Reverses. 
The  Beasts  versus  Man. 
Stanzas  on  Freedom. 
Saturday  Night  in  the  Manse. 
Daniel  Cathie,  Tobacconist. 
On  the  Death  of  Lord  Byron. 
The  Bohemian  Gardener. 
Miles  Atherton. 
Haco's  Grave. 
The  Home  Star. 
To  tlie  Spirit  of  Health. 
Genius. 

New  Buildings  at  Cambridge. 
The  Crusades — Chivalry — Fiction. 
Observations  on  the  Study  of  History. 
Influence  of  Luxury  on  Religion. 
Action  and  Thought. 
Country  Life. 
Something  Scottish. 
Effect  of  Growing  Prosperity. 
The  Transport. 
Pastorall;   extracted  from   Uranus   amj 

Psyche,  a  MS.  religious  poem. 


470 


APPENDIX, 


in. 


LIST   OF    PROFESSOR  WILSON'S    COXTRIBUTIONS    TO  BLACKWOOD'S 
MAGAZINE  FROM  1826* 


1826. 
January.      Nine  pages  of  Preface, 

Christmas  Gifts, 
February.    Birds,        .  .  .  , 

Moore's  Sheridan,  5  pages — Gait,  5,  besides  omissions — Croly, 

Noctes, 
March.         Cottages, 

Saint  and  Demon,     . 

Remains  of  Wolfe, 

Byron  Papers,  .  .  . 

Naval  Sketch-Book, 
April  Streams,     .... 

Noctes, 
June.  Meg  Dods'  Cookery, 

Wilson's  Ornithology, 

Noctes, 
Julj.  Hints  for  the  Holidays, 

Noctes,  1 5 — Moir  or  Hogg,  3,  . 

Aug.  P.  1.    Gymnastics,     . 

Wilson's  Ornithology, 
2.    Hints  for  the  Holidays,  2, 

Letter  to  Mrs.  M.  on  the  Seies, 

The  Four  Shops, 
Sept.  Hints  for  the  Holidays,  3, 

October.       Noctes,  16^ — Hogg,  1| — Mr.  C.  Croker,  1* 
November.  Glance  over  Selby's  Ornithology, 

Noctes, 

Christmas  Presents,  entd.  Mr.  Wilson, 


December. 

1827. 
January. 
March. 
April. 
May. 


Noctes, 

Noctes, 

Do.  .  .  . 

May  Day, 
June.  Persian  Women,  ,  . 

Aird's  Characteristics, 

The  Navy,  No.  1, 
June.  P.  2.  Cruickshank  on  Time, 

PoUok's  Course  of  Time,  2— Aird,  10, 

Richardson's  Sonnets, 

Dr.  Phillpott's  Letters,     . 

The  Reigning  Vice, 

Noctes, 
July.  Real  State  of  Ireland, 

Cyril  Thornton, 

Noctes, 

•  I  had  hoped  at  one  tirnn  to  be  able  to  give  a  complete  Ust  of  my  father's  contribntions  from 
the  commencement  of  the  Magazine,  but  "the  materials  for  fi.ving  the  authorship  with  certainty, 
in  every  instance,  do  not  exist 


PiiGES. 
9 


APPENDIX. 


471 


1827. 
Sept.  Moore's  Epicurean, 

October.      The  Traveller's  Oracle, 

Sciimelzle's  Journey, 

Montgomery's  Poems, 
November.  Preface  and  Review  of  Chroniclea, 

lleber's  Kymns, 


1828. 
January. 


February. 

March. 

April. 

May.        2 

June. 


July. 


August. 

Sept. 

October. 

November. 

December. 
P.  1. 


1829. 
January. 
March. 
April. 
May. 


Christmas  Dreams, 

Christmas  Presents, 

Health  and  Longevity, 

Noctes, 

Postscript, 

Leigh  Hunt's  Byron, 

Sir  J  I.  Stuart's  liook, 

Anatomy  of  Drufikenness, 

Life  of  Eurns, 

Noctes,  No.  36,  L.  1.3,  with  pieces  from  Hogg, 

Old  North  and  Young  North, 

The  Man  of  Ton, 

Wilson's  Illustrations, 

Dr.  Pliillpotts, 

Monkeyana, 

Iluskisson's  Complete  Letter-Writer, 

Bremhill  Parsonage, 

Salmonia, 

Christopher  in  his  Sporting  Jacket, 

Noctes,  20i — 17— White,  3— Hogg,  1, 

Interscript  and  Postscript, 

Noctes,  21 — Mr.  Coleridge,  12 — Mr.  Johnston, 

Noctes, 

Sir  R.  Inglis's  Speeches, 

Sacred  Poetry, 


Edinburgh  Sessional  School, 

Noctes, 
Do. 
Do. 

Note, 
Sept.  P.  2.  Loves  of  the  Poets, 

Furness  Abbey, 

Noctes, 
December.  Noctes, 

The  Annuals, 


1830. 
January. 

Feb. 


March. 


April 
May. 


Education  of  the  People, 
The  Age — a  Poem, 

1.  The  Fall  of  Nineveh, 
The  Young  Lady's  Book, 

2.  Banwell  Hill, 
Moore's  Byron, 

Do.         do. 
Annals  of  PeninsJar  War, 
Notice, 
Noctes,  .  . 

Do. 


0.  Croker, 


,4, 


PAOKS. 

.     29 
2(U 

.     22' 
20| 

.     52 
17 


472 


APPENDIX. 


1830. 
June.  The  Christian  Tear, 

On  the  Punishment  of  Death, 

The  Mariner's  Return, 

Noctes, 
July.  Bear-Hunting,  . 

Sadler  on  Balance  of  Food, 

Notice  to  Correspondents, 
August       The  Great  Moray  Floods, 

The  Lay  of  the  Desert,    . 

Wild  Garland,  etc., 
2.  Wild  Fowl  Shooting, 

Colman's  Random  Records, 

Clarke  on  Climaie, 

Noctes,  43— L.  9— Hogg,  2, 
September.  Day  at  Windermere, 
October.      The  Moors, 

Expiation, 
November.  Noctes, 
December.  Winter  Rhapsody, 

1831. 
January.      Noctes, 

L'Envoy, 
February.    Noctes, 

2.  Winter  Rhapsody, 

Mr.  Sadler  and  Edinburgh  Reviewer, 
March.         Noctes, 
April.  Sotheby's  Homer, 

Noctes, 
May.  Reformers  and  Anti-Reformers, 

Sotheby's  Homer, 
June.  Edinburgh  Election, 

Lord  Advocate  on  Reform, 
July.  Sotheby's  Homer, 

Audubon's  Ornithological  Biography, 
Ang.        1.  Audubon  and  Wilson, 

Unimore, 
2.  Friendly  Advice  to  the  Lords, 

Greek  Drama,  No.  1, 
Sept.  An  Hour's  Talk  about  Poetry, 

American  and  Whig  on  the  Bill, 
October.       Tod's  Rajast'han, 
November.  Noctes, 
December.  Sotheby's  Homer, 

Curliana, 
1832. 
January.      Protestant  Affairs  in  Ireland, 

Reply  to  Lord  Brougham, 
February.    Sotheby's  Homer, 

Noctes, 
P.  2.  L'Envoy, 
March.         Balance  of  Parties, 
April.  American  Poetry, 

Miss  F.  Kemble's  Tragedy, 
Noctes, 
May.  Tcnny.'50n's:  Poems, 


APPENDIX. 


473 


I 


1832, 
June. 


July. 

A.UgU3t. 

November. 

1833. 
January. 
Feburary. 
March. 
April. 

P.  3 

May. 

June. 

July. 

August. 
September. 

October  1. 

2. 
November. 

December. 

1834. 
January. 

February. 

March. 


April. 
May.       1. 


June. 
July. 

kngust 


Christopher  at  the  Lakes,     "    . 
Living  Poets  and  Poetesses. 
Maid  of  Elvar, 
Griffin's  Remains, 
Christopher  at  the  Lakes, 

Do.  do. 

Upper  Canada,  .  . 

Noctes, 

Characteristics  of  Women, 

Do.       . 

Do. 
The  Factory  System, 
Characteristics  of  Women, 
Motherwell's  Poems, 
Devonshire  and  Cornwall, 
On  Poor  Laws  and  Ireland, 
Twaddle  on  Tweedside, 
Greek  Anthology  with  Hay, 
Loch  Awe,  .  . 

Sir  Henry  Blackwood, 
Greek  Anthology  with  Hay,    , 

Do.  do. 

Northern  Lighthouses,  . 

Greek  Anthology, 
Morning  Monologues, 
False  Mediums, 
America,  No.  2, 

English  Cathedral  Establishments, 
The  Hindu  Drama, 
Spenser,  No.  1, 
Retribution, 
Greek  Anthology, 

Sotheby's  Odyssey,    . 

Hindu  Drama, 

Odyssey,    . 

Aria, 

Whig  Prosecutions  of  the  Press, 

Refutations  of  Stewart, 

Conspiracy  against  Mr.  Sheil, 

Baron  Smith, 

Loudon  on  Education  of  Gardeners, 

Admission  of  Dissenters, 

Stephen  Oliver  on  Angling, 

Moral  of  Flowers, 

Poetry  of  p]bonezer  Elliott, 

Combinations, 

Noctes — Hogg  and  Mag.  12, 

Aurora — A  Vision, 

Christopher  on  Colonsay, 

Do.  do. 

Noctes — Hogg,  a  small  part, 

Do. 
Campbell's  Siddons, 


'17-i 


APPENDIX. 


1834. 
September. 

October. 

November. 

December. 


1833. 
January, 


Campbell's  Siddons, 

Edmund  Spenser, 

Glance  at  the  Noctes  of  Athenaeus, 

Coleridge's  Poetical  Works^ 

Koctes,  .  .  . 

Spenser, 

Do.  .  .  . 

Orphan's  Song, 
JNoctes,  &c., 


Edmund  Spencer,  Part  V., 

Audubon's  Ornithological  Biography, 

Noctes,  etc., 
Feb.       1.     Bishop  of  Exeter  and  Lord  John  Russell, 

Ruscoe's  Poems, 

Koctes,  etc., 
2.     Ancient  Scottish  Poetry,  No.  1,  Dunbar, 

Dana's  Buccaneer,     . 
March.         Shall  we  have  a  Conservative  Government? 

Edmund  Spenser,  Part  VI.,     . 
May.  Wordsworth's  New  Volume, 

Eemale  Characters  in  our  Modern  Poetry,  No. 
July.  Life  of  Edmund  Kean, 

Tomkius  on  the  Aristocracy  of  England, 

Anniversary  of  Waterloo, 

Stoddart's  Angling,  . 
August.       Auglimania, 

Eemale  Characters  in  our  Modern  Poetry,  No, 

Clare's  Poems, 
■    Wilhs's  Poems, 

The  Doctor,  Eirst  Dose,  . 
September.  The  Modern  Dunciad, 

De  Bereugcr's  Pielps  and  Hints, 

Justin  Martyr  and  other  Poems, 

The  Doctor,  Second  Dose, 

Sacred  Poetry  of  Seventeenth  Century,  . 


October. 
November, 

1836. 
January. 
February. 
March. 
May. 
June. 


July. 

August. 

September. 

October. 

November. 

December. 


18.37. 
J.'uiuary. 
February. 


BaiUie's  Dramas, 

Do. 
Sw^an's  Views  of  the  Lakes  of  Scotland, 
Alford's  Poems, 
The  ilotaphysician,  No.  1, 
Definitions  of  Wealth,     . 
The  Siller  Gun,  .  .  . 

The  Metaphysician,  No.  2, 

Do.  "     3,        . 

Do.  "     4, 

Do.  "     5,        , 

Do.  "     6, 

Do.  "     7,        . 

Epigrams  of  Theocritus,  . 

The  Mountain  Decameron,       .  . 

Do. 
The  Metaphysician,  No.  8,  . 


27 
7 


APPENDIX. 

475 

1837. 

TAGES. 

March. 

The  Birth-Day,        .                .                .                • 

24 

April. 

Our  Two  Vases, 

.     20 

October. 

Do.                   .... 

24 

November 

.  Poetry  by  Our  New  Contributor,  10 — Sterling,  16^ 

.     10 

18:58. 

February. 

Loss  of  Our  Golden  Key, 

.     33 

April. 

The  Latin  Anthology, 

44 

May. 

Our  Two  Vases, 

.     28 

June. 

Our  Two  Panniers,  .... 

32 

July. 

Extracts,           .... 

.     20i 

August. 

Christopher  in  His  Cave, 

17 

September.  Christopher  among  the  Mountains, 

.     32 

October. 

A  Glance  over  Thomas  Warton, 

20 

November 

Our  Pocket  Companion,  . 

.     29 

December. 

Tupper's  Geraldine, 

13 

1839. 

February. 

New  Edition  of  Ben  Jonson,    . 

25 

April. 

Christopher  in  his  Alcove,                .            .    . 

.     33 

May. 

Our  Descriptive  Poetry, 

13 

July. 

The  Antediluvians,  or  the  World  Destroyed, 

.     25 

August. 

Our  Pocket  Companions, 

23 

November. 

Have  you  read  Ossian  ?   . 

.     22 

1840. 

March. 

Leigh  Hunt's  Legend  of  Florence,  . 

.     16 

1842. 

December. 

Lays  of  Ancient  Rome,  .                 .                 .                 . 

.     22^ 

184.'5. 

February. 

North's  Specimens  of  the  British  Critics, 

.     26 

March. 

Do.                                   do. 

32 

April. 

Do.                                   do. 
Extracts  from  the  Drawer  of  our  "What-not. 

.     26 

May. 

North's  Specimens  of  British  Critics, 

.    30 

June. 

Do.                               do. 

23 

July. 

Do.                               do. 

.     15 

August. 

Do.                               do. 

28 

September. 

Do.                               do. 

.     23 

1848. 

October. 

Byron's  Address  to  the  Ocean, 

.     16 

1849. 

June. 

Dies  Boreales,  .                .                .                .                . 

.     26 

July. 

Do.                     .... 

32 

August. 

Do.             ....                . 

.     28 

September, 

Do.                     .... 

28 

November. 

Do.            ....                . 

.     35 

1850. 

April. 

Dies  Boreales,  No.  6,        .                .                . 

.     32 

May. 

Do.                                    ... 

18 

October. 

Do.       .                    .                .                .                . 

.     20 

1852. 

August. 

Chi  istopher  under  Canvas,              .                •                . 

.     30 

Dies  Boreales — The  Last,        .                .                . 

M 

INDEX 


Accident  to  >frs.  Wilson,  2T6, 277. 

to  Mrs.  Gordon,  st-nior,  401. 

Aclilian.  vi.sits  to.     See  CampbfIL 

Aini,  ThoHiiis,  299,  819,415. 

letters  to,  on  Burns,  394-39C. 

on  the  Festival,  4? 7,  418. 

Alison,  .'Sir  A.,  HI,  121,415. 

Allan,  Mr.,  of  the  Coleiioriian  3fercury,  98. 

Allan,  Sir  William,  201,  413. 

Aml)lesi(le,  fair  at,  309, 310.     See  EUeray. 

America  and  the  Americans,  426. 

Anderson,  Samuel,  ISI. 

Anecdotes  of  College  life,  49-65. 

Anglers'  Tent,  the,  84. 

Aji]L,'ling;,  early  fondn«s  for,  8,  4,  7,  12.  See 
Fishing  Excursions. 

his  last  "cast,"  446. 

Animals,  love  of — 

the  peaseweep  in  the  moor,  9. 

eock-flghtin};,  45. 

— —  spiders  ami  their  habits,  92. 

game-cocks,  92,  116. 

ponies  and  cows,  calves  and  pigs,  297. 

chickens  and  dogs,  379. 

the  dog  Kover  and  the  witch,  371,  372. 

— —  two  [>et  dogs  shot,  386. 

list  of  dogs,  889. 

his  four-footed  friends,  890. 

Bronte,  Tor}-,  and  Grog,  3^9-392. 

his  "aviary"  in  the  back -green,  392-394. 

interference  in  behalf  of  an  ill-used  horse, 

424,  425. 

Anuiterndry,  The^  an  annual  of  Allan  Cun- 
ningham"s,  314-318. 

"  Apperdeen  stockingks,"  237. 

Aristocracy,  the,  Wilson  admired  from  a  dis- 
tance, 427. 

Art,  love  of,  427,  428,  458. 

ABtley,  the  Messrs.,  84. 

Audubon,  John  James,  the  ornithologist,  361, 
3(3;3, 304. 

"Auld  lang  syne,"  as  sung  by  Wilson,  431. 

Authors,  calamities  of,  303,  304,  398,  899. 

"  Aviary,"  the,  392. 

treatment  of  its  Invalids,  393. 

Awe,  Loch,  139-142,  154,  400-402. 

Aytoun,  I'vofessor  W.  E.,  233. 

marriage  ot^  to  Jane  Emily  Wilson,  434. 


Babirs,  the  Professor's  "  way"  of  cai-rying,  437, 

438. 
Bauhelor    degree,  examination  for,  at   Oxfiird, 

72-74. 


Baillie,  Joanna,  112. 
Baird,  Principal,  222. 

letter  trom,  277. 

Ballantynes,  the,  108,  103,  110,  112,  115,  181,  ISJ, 

3(18. 
Balmer,  Billy,  a  boatman  on  Windermere  Si-00 

134,  130,  149,  212. 

Some  account  of,  438—440. 

Bar,  Scottish,  called  to  the,  117,  121. 

Barlier,  Samuel,  297,  308,  et  seq. 

Barley-sugar,  fondness  for,  23,  389. 

Barlow,  Mrs.,  809,  330. 

Barton,  Mr.,  \-V\ 

Baxter,  Mr.,  134. 

Bell,  Henry  Glassford,  3)7,  318,  421. 

Bell.  Mr.,  143. 

Ben  Cruachan,  124. 

Bentham,  Jeremy.  274,  275. 

Beresford,  Admiral  Sir  J.,  345. 

Berkeley's   philosophy,   papers  on.   In   Black- 

uood,  217. 
Bible,  remarks  on  the,  459. 
Blllholm,  the  residence  of  his  son  John,  de- 

8crii)ti(m  of,  404-406. 

a  summer  at,  407. 

letter  to,  413,  414. 

visits  to,  4oS,  447. 

Bl.-ickwood,  <  aptain,  349. 
Blackwood,  Sir  Ilenrv,  843. 
Blackwood,  John,  46.8. 
Blackwooil,  William,  115,  164,  167. 

his  saloon  described  by  Loekhart,  171. 

letters  from,  259,  260,  264-270,  2b9-290. 

his  illness  and  death,  874-378. 

BlnckicoocCs  Mugnzine  versus  Edinburgh  Re- 
view, 156,  164,  175. 
account  of  the  rise  of  the  Magazine,  160 

102. 

its  early  defects,  164. 

contributors  to,  171. 

fictitious  names  used  in,  176,  180. 

troubles  occasioned  by  its  assaults,  1S4-I9S. 

Wilson's  allegiance  to,  258. 

his  contribuiions  to,  294,  313.  329,  334,  835, 

361,  8T8,  394.  400,  400,  420,  422. 

bis  last  papers,  449. 

For  titles  of  contributions  see  Ai'pendi.\ 

111.,  470-475. 
Blair,  Dr.  Alex.ijider,  2.'),  98., 
lettei-8  to  Findlay  on  Wilson's  attachment 

to   Margaret  of  Dychmont,  65-73.    St£  Love 

episode. 

visit  to  Elleray,  ^  S5. 

lett*T  from,  117. 


4:78 


INUKX. 


Bkiir,  D. .  A.;  corriS[uin(lcnce  ^vitll,whcn  pre- 
paring Mi)r;il  i'liilosoiiliv  Littnres,  '.'lO-'J'il. 

iiiontioiH'd,  ;}41,  30.").  41(1,  441. 

iicciiiiipauic'f  Wilson  to  llic  lli;:hlii:i(ls,  418, 

419. 

reminiscences  of  his  friendship  with  AVil- 

son.  441-443. 

Blantvre  Priorv,  2t. 

Hoatini;,  love  of,  SS-90. 

BothwcU  15ank.s,  3T,  56. 

Boxins — Wilson  "a  varra  bad  un  to  lick,"  23, 
45,  95. 

Boyd,  John,  2S2. 

Boyhood,  1-14. 

"  Breeches  Keview,'^  the.  276. 

Brewster,  Sir  I)avi<i,  171,  411. 

"  Britisli  Criti(^s,"  North's  Specimens  of  thf,  420. 

Bridi;es,  David.  202. 

Bronte,  the  do-:,  8S9.  • 

Brougham,  Lord.  U4,  252,  409,  411. 

Brown,  J)r.  .Inhn.  292,  8T2,  8T3. 

Brown,  Teter.  llishop  of  Corlv.  220. 

Brown,  Dr.  'Ilioiiias,  202,  206,  222,  22S. 

Browne,  Dr.  .lames,  editor  of  the  Caledonian 
Mercui-ii,  82H. 

Bryant,  .Jacob.  219. 

Bull  inidniirht  chase  of  a.  00-92. 

Bull  {John)  Miiytieine,  2T1,  2^7,  288. 

Burke  and  Hi.re,  the  Edinburgh  murderers,  321, 
390. 

Burnev,  Charles  Parr,  Archdeacon  of  Colchester, 
49,  7'4,  345. 

Burns  Festival,  415-418. 

Burns,  Kobert,  l.V. 

essay  on,  394.  395. 

Burnside,  Mary,  the  fiiend  of  the  "Or[)lian  Maid," 
395. 

Burt,  Dr.  .John,  4C.3. 

Burton,  John  Hill,  his  reminiscences  of  the 
Professor  and  his  class,  231-243. 

.«yron.  Lord,  131,  158. 

paper  on  his  "Address  to  the  Ocean,"  422. 


v^AH-DRivERS  on  the  look-out  for  Wilson,  423. 

Cadell,  T.,  144,  200.  et  seq. 

Caird,  the  i;reat,  and  his  wife,  127. 

Calder  Bank,  21,34 

Calderwood,  34. 

C'uliuii  ii.i.  attack  by,  ou  Drs.  M"Crie  and  Andrew 

'J'hoin.^on.  171,190. 
Campbell,  t'aptain  Archibald,  142. 
Campbell,  Diiu'ald,  of  Aehlian,  125. 

visit  to,  139-144,  146. 

Campbell.  Thomas.  34.5,358,  379. 
CannitiK,  George,  271. 

letter  IVom,  281, 

visit  to  Elleray,  2S4,  285. 

mentioned,  2S7,  288. 

Carlisle,  s|)orts  at,  94. 

Carlyle,  Thomas,  letter  from,  322,  323. 

Carter,  a  speeeliless.  looking  after  the  Professor 

with  his  horse,  424,  425. 
Ciisliel,  Mis.  (.Orace  Wilson),  2,  857. 
Cay.  Sheriir.  121,  181,411. 
"Chaldee  Manuscript."  103,  171,  187. 
Chambers,  Kobert,  436,  4li3. 
Cliannini,',  Dr.,  426. 
Cheese,  lie  v.  Benjamin,  73. 
Children,  tl.t   I'rofessor's  love  of,  437,  489,  458, 

460. 
Ohristm.as  vacations,  10,  20;  his  last  Christmas 

diiy,  460. 


"  Christopher  North,"  257. 

letter  on,  305. 

portrait  of,  in  his  Sporting  Jacket,  423. 

Church  service,  Scottish,  4!«,  434. 

"City  of  the   Plague,"  publication  of,   133,  137. 

/Sec  (list)  117. 
Cladich,  401. 

CU-liorn,  James,  lGO-162. 
Cocklnirn,  Lord,  3&7,  429,  463. 
<_'oek-lit:hting.  45,  40. 

Cocks,  eslabli-^hment  of,  nt  Elleray,  46,  92,  9& 
t'odrington.  Sir  Edward,  35(1. 
Colburn,  Henry,  272. 

Coleridge,  Hartley,  307,  et  geq.,  811,  312, 332. 
Coleridge,  Samuel  Taylor.  SI,  184,  135. 

his  /iiogriiphid  Literaria,  1G2. 

review  of  his  poetical  works,  378. 

College  life  at  Glasgow,  14-26. 

at  Oxford,  37-77.     S>-e  Oxford. 

Collier,  Sir  i'.,  341,  li  aeq. 

"Colonsay,    Christopher    on,"    origin    of,  297, 

29a 
Combe,  George,  162. 
Commonplace-books,  begun  at  0.\ford,  plan  ol^ 

40-43,  67. 

extracts  from,  in  prose  and  verse,  85-83. 

Comi)osition,  habits  of,  398-400. 
Constable,  Arcliibald,  115,  133,  162,  283. 
Cooj),  the,  in  the  attic,  398. 
Copleston,  liev.  Edward,  220. 
"Copy,  copy !"  398. 
Craiistoun,  "Mr.,  112,  213. 
(.:ritic,  Wilson  as  a.  299,  359,  360. 
Croker,  John  Wilson,  271,  273. 
(,'ruikstone,  87. 
Cunningham,  Allan,  270. 

letters  from,  313-313. 

Cupple,  Mr.,  extract  from  his  "  Memorial"  of 

Wilson,  3&6. 
Curwcn,  William,  134,  136. 


Daltell,  Sir  .J.  G.,  181, 182. 

Dasent,  Dr.,  48. 

Death  of  a  sister,  14. 

— -  of  Wilson's  father,  14, 15. 

of  his  mother,  277. 

of  his  wife,  382,  3tv3. 

of  Profe.-sor  Wilson,  461. 

"Delta,"  Kee  Moir,  Dr. 

De  Qiiineey,  Thonuis,  remarks  of,  on  Wilson'9 

I)Ugilisiicand  leaping  attainments,  46-48. 

on  his  friends  at  Oxford,  49. 

description  of  Elleray,  78,  79. 

first  mtx'ting  with  Wilson,  S2-S4. 

story  of  the  bull-chase,  90-92. 

remaiks  on  Wilson  as  a  naturalist,  92. 

letters  to,  101,  1 18,  324-826. 

mentioned.  134,  135,  149, 171,  224,  284,  279, 

291.  830,  -141,408. 

letter  from.  274-276. 

friendship  wi;h  Wilson,  326-328. 

De  Tabley,  Lord,  321. 

Diary  in  1801,  17.     ^ee  Memorandum-book. 

Dicken.s,  Charles,  45,  388. 

public  dinner  to.  400. 

"  Dies  Boreales,"  composition  of  the,  432,  4.33. 
the  last  contributions  to  Jilackwooil,  449, 

452,  453. 
"  Dilettanti  Club,"  184. 
"Dim  acclivitv,'"  the, 421. 
Disraeli,  jiiniamin,  293. 


Dixon,  Kev.  liichard,  T8. 


INDEX. 


479 


Dobson,  Mr.,  135. 

Dogs,  the.  at  Thirlstane  Castle,  371-373. 

iiiifcdote  of  two  shot  at  lioslin,  ii86. 

list  of  Wilson's  dojrs,  ys'J. 

Doiiirh's,  Mr.,  of  (iiasgow,  his //■acn«  with  Mr. 

J}lack«oo(l,  IhS. 
Dow,  John,  270. 
Dovic,  John,  409,  410. 
Doyle,  Kichard,  41)<J. 

Drawing,  early  attempts  at,  4.     iS^eArt. 
Dress,  pec-uliarities  of.  428. 
Drovers,  Kin^'  of  the.  Wilson's  match  with,  in 

a  Highland  villase,  l'i7. 
Dnimmond,  Mr.  Home,  49. 
Dainfries.  visit  to,  :WG. 
Duncan,  Thomas.  Wilson  in  his  studio,  428. 
Dundas,  Admiral,  354. 
Dundas,  Kol.ert, '279. 
Dunda.s,  William,  279. 
Du  Perron,  Cardinal,  as  a  leapcr,  47. 
Dimlop,  William,  24,  26,  72,  139. 
Dunlops,  the.  of  Garnkirk,  2. 
Dvchmont,  22. 
-^—  the  ladies  of,  33-37. 


Eaki;t  companions,  25,  2G. 

"Edderline's  Dream,"'  31()-ai8. 

Edireworth,  Miss,  2(i2,  292. 

Edinlnirgh,  removal  of  the  family  to,  118-121. 

Ami  street  and  its  associations,  19S-201. 

removal  to  Gloucester  Place,  278. 

Eilinlmrgh  Monthly  Mitgazine,  154,  160-162. 
Editiliiirgh  Review,  strictures  of,  ou  educiition 

at  O.xford,  55. 

'•  Isle  of  Palms"  reviewed  in,  115. 

Wilson's  contributions   to,  120,   158.    See 

Jeffrey. 

review  of  the  "  City  of  the  Plasue/'  137. 

the  lierieio  versus  Bktcticood,  156,  164. 

EUeray,  purchase  of,  68,  69. 

descri[ition  of,  by  De  Quincey,  78,  79. 

society  in  the  district,  SI,  96. 

excursions  around,  S4,  87,  S3,  149,  150. 

boating  on  Windermere,  88-90. 

regattas,  97,  28.5. 

plans  of  composition  .at,  116. 

ileparture  from,  117-119. 

visits  to,  133-136.  148-150,  259,  269. 

tlie  new  bi)use  at,  269. 

visit  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  284,  28.5. 

letters   to  Mrs.  Wilson  and  familv  from, 

294-297,  307-311,  331,  332  ;  to  SheriH"  Gordon, 

420,  421. 

intention  to  let,  30.5. 

visits  in  1845  and  1848,  420,  422. 

resylution  not  to  return,  422. 

Elliot,  Kbenezer,  the  Corn-Law  Khj-mer,  361- 

36;l. 
Ellison,  Nathaniel.  49. 

Eliiquence,  the  Gormandizing  School  of,  262. 
£<]uestriaii  adventure,  90. 


EAir.Y,  funeral  of  a,  described,  40'2,  403 

Fairy-land.  Lavs  from.  256. 

Fani.  the  dog,'372,  389. 

Father,  death  of  Wilson's.  14,  15. 

Ferguson,  Dr.  Adam,  223. 

Fersusson,  Sir  Adam,  201.  262,  263. 

Pergusson,  James,  112,  139. 

Ferher,  Professor,  16,3,  294.  330. 

miirriajje  of,  to  Miss  Wilson,  836. 


Findlay,  Robert,  24,  2.5. 

correspondence  with,  on  the  Orphan  Maid, 

60-77.     (See  Love  episode.) 
letter  to, on  his  marriage  with  .Miss  Penny, 

10.5. 
letter  to,  on   the   death  of  Mrs.  Findlay, 

senior, and  of  Mrs.  Wilson,  senior,  277,  278. 

mentioned,  329. 

note  to,  3W). 

letter  to,  from  Rothesay,  400. 

invited  to  the  marriage  of  John  Wilson, 

jun.,  421. 
letter  to,  congratulating  him  on  his  eon's 

marriage,  455. 

his  <leath,  455. 

Fiiilay,  Ji>hn,  a  young  poet,  68,  71,  101, 104. 

Finlay,  Mr.,  of  Glencorse,  121. 

Fish,  the  first,  3. 

Fishing  excursions — to  the  Tweed  and  Tarrow. 

121.  ^ 

to  the  Highlands,  126. 

to  Loch  Awe.  13^^142. 

to  the  wilds  of  Kannoch,  1.54. 

to  the  Dochart,  418,  419,  445. 

his  last  excursion,  445,  446. 

FK-mi'is,  Rev.  John,  of  Ravrii;,  81. 

letters  to,  207.  208, 804-^^o7,  Su'C,  821. 

Forbes.  Professor  Edward.  151. 

"  Foresters,  The,"  268,  269.  28'2. 

Fortune,  unencumbered,  39. 

circumstiinces  connected  with  the  loss  of 

it,  lis. 
Eraser,  P.  S.,  433,  46:3. 
Fraset's  Mugiiziue,  189,  289,  366,  870. 
Free  I'rade,  views  on,  279,  301,  802. 
Friend,  The,  a  serial  of  Coleridge's  referred  to, 

85. 


GAisFonD,  Dr.  Thomas,  50. 

Gale  House  and  its  inmates,  96,  et  aeq. 

Gait,  John.  201,  267,  268. 

'Mian:,'!!-!  bodies"  from  the  South,  126. 

Garnet,  William,  149,  290,  309,  310,  .331. 

Gas  ver-sm  Candle,  39!).  40(t.  436. 

"(lemm  eg^rs.  .-i  ponclilu'  o'."  94. 

Gibb,  Mr.,  an  Edinburgh  artist,  320-322,  333. 

Gill.  Mr.,  112. 

(Jillies,  R.  P.,  160,  161,  168,  171. 

Gipsie.s,  the  llowitts'  story  of  his  joining  a  gang 

of,  48. 
(iladslime.W.  E.,  .33.5. 
(ilasgow  I'liiversitv,  enters,  la 

colleire  life,  14-26. 

recollections  of,  38,  39. 

Gla.ssford,  iMr.,  Wi. 

(ileniller,  1. 

Gloucester    Place,  removal   to  new  house  in, 

••  Gold  Medal,  Professor  AVilson's,"  254. 

Gordon,  Sir  John  Watson,  200,  46.3. 

Gordon,  Mrs.,  senior,  accident  to,  401. 

(iordon,  John  Thomson,  238. 

marriage  of,  3S6. 

letters  to,  41.5,  416,  420. 

letter  to,  from  the  Lord  Advocate,  inti- 
mating the  grant  of  a  jH-nsion  to  Wilson  of 
£300  per  annum,  417. 

Gordon,  Juhn,  322. 

••Goulilen  Vanitee,  The;"  music  and  words  of 
this  quaint  ballad,  4^31-433. 

Graham,  Dr.,  283. 

Graham,  Sir  James,  356,  411. 


480 


INDEX. 


Gralianie,  Rev.  James,  author  of  "  The  Sabbath," 
publiiation  of  •■  Lines"  to  his  memory,  110- 
112. 

Grandfather,  Wilson  as  a,  487,  438,  463,  459, 
4tiU. 

Grant,  Mrs.,  of  LajTsan,  123,  126,  147,  208-210. 

Ci rants  of  Lilforchy,  140. 

Gray,  Jauies,  author  of  "  Cona,"  180. 

Gray,  Lieutenant  Charles,  132,  841. 

Greave,  Mr.,  134. 

Grenville,  Lord,  99. 

Grev,  Sir  Charles  E.,  49,  74. 

Grieve,  John,  121,  127. 

letter  to.  on  Hogg's  dispute  with  Black- 
wood, 30S-3T0. 

Gn.g,  the  dog,  391. 

Gro-sart,  Ilev.  A.  B.,  of  Kinross,  his  account  of 
an  illness  of  the  Professor,  44-3,  444. 


Haddington,  Lord,  841. 

Hall,  Mrs.  S.  C,  358. 

Hallani,  Henry.  3TS. 

Ilall^ide,  Professor  Jardine's  residence,  society 
and  (liversioni*  at,  21.  2^  34. 

Hamilton,  Archibald,  26. 

Hamilton,  Captain  Thom.TS,  171,  1S8,  201. 

Hamilton,  Sir  William,  121,  163,  171,  201. 

contest  with,  for  the  Chair  of  Moral  Phi- 
losophy, 202,  et  netj. 

at  Wilson's  lectures,  24.5,  249. 

Harden,  Allan,  of  Brathay,  85. 

letter  to,  99,  100. 

Harden,  Captain,  of  Altnagoich,  154 

Hawick  fair,  adventure  at,  229,  230. 

Hay,  An<Irew,34l. 

Hazlitt,  William,  181. 

H.  B.  political  sketches,  409. 

Health  ^Mvin^  way,  443,  et  aeq. 

residence  at  Woodburn,  449-455. 

return  to  Edinburgh,  455. 

p.aralytic  stroke,  461. 

Heber,  Reginald,  49. 

Helensburgh,  regatta  at,  379. 

Herbert,  William,  Dean  of  Manchester,  131. 

Highlands,  tour  in  the,  71. 

pedestrian  tour,  accompanied  by  Mrs.  Wil- 
son, 122-129. 

toui  of  1816,  139-147. 

of  1817,  153,  154. 

short  excursion  in  1S36,  after  the  Paisley 

festivities.  381. 

and  again  in  1841,  400,  401. 

his  last  excursion  to,  in  search  of  health, 

445 

Hill,  b.  O.,  his  calotype  of  Wilson,  411,  423. 
Hogg,   James,  the  Ettrick  Shepherd,  Tisit   to, 

121. 

letters  to,  129-132,  36,>-36S 

writes  for  the  Edinbtirgh  Magazine^  161, 

and  (or  BlackiciMd,  171,  179,  181. 

letter  IVotn,  319,320. 

his    quarrel    with    the    Blackwoods,   365- 

371. 
Home,  Wilson  at,  328,  329,  38S,  389. 
Home,  Professor  James,  222. 
"  Homer  and  his  Translators,"  Essays  on,  335. 
Hook,  Dr.  James,  2(58. 
Hook,  Theo<lore,  271,318. 
Hope,  Captain,  308. 

Hope,  Captain  (Experimental  Siiuadron).  341. 
Hope,  Professor  T.  C,  222. 
Uuruer,  Francis,  102. 


Homer,  Leonard,  25. 

Howitt,  William  and  Mary,  48. 

Hume,  David,  263. 

Humility,  his,  in  speaking  of  himself,  4u3. 

Humor,  Wilson's,  422,  423,428,  429. 

Humphries,  Mr.,  S4. 

Hunt,  Leigh,  attack  on,  in  Blockwoody  163,  181 

182,  26(1,  261. 

review  of  his  Legend  of  Florence,  400. 

Huskisson,  W..  letter  from,  on  the  proposal  foi 

a  separate  Chair  of   Political  Economy,  280. 

281. 
'•Hypocrisy  Unveiled,"  the  pamphlet  bo  culled 

and  its  author,  190-192. 


Inkstand,  the  Professor's,  486. 

Innerleithen,  residence  at,  304. 

Innes,  Alex.  Taylor  (his  last  Medallist),  remi- 
niscences of  the  Professor  and  his  class,  254- 
266, 444. 

Ireland,  rambles  in,  68,  69. 

visits  to  his  sisters  in,  115,  857. 

Irving,  Kev.  Edward,  his  preaching  described, 
271. 

"  Isle  of  Palms,"  original  draught  of,  43. 

correspondence  on  its  publication,  101-104, 

107-116. 

Ivory,  James  (Lord),  121. 

Izett,  Mrs.,  127,  129,  154,  867. 


Janus,  publication  of,  282-284,  290-292. 

correspondence  relating  to,  464—169. 

contents  of,  469. 

Jameson,  Professor  Kobert,  171, 222. 

letter  from,  285,  286. 

Jamieson,  Mrs.,  author  of  "King  Charles's 
Beauties,"  358. 

Jardine,  Professor  George,  residence  in  the 
family  of,  15,  et  neq. 

first  published  poems  dedicated  to,  113, 

his  "  Hints"  for  Moral  Philosophy  Lectures, 

221. 

mentioned,  278. 

Jefl'rey,  Lord,  112. 

his  review  of  the  I«le  of  Palms,  115. 

visit  to  the  Continent,  129. 

letter  on  Wilson's  poems,  137,  138. 

letter  from,  on  Contributions  to  the  Edin- 
burgh Tievieu;  155. 

letter  vindicating  the   Review  from    the 

charge  of  intidelity,  196-198. 

reunion-^  at  his  house,  3s7,  888. 

his  evening  receptions,  429. 

Jenner,  Dr.,  of  O.vford,  62. 

Jones,  Sir  William,  42. 


KfcAN,  Charles,  139. 

Keepudke,  The,  an  annual,  316-318. 

Kemp  affair  and  Scott  Monument,  408,  et  ^tq. 

Kinnaird,  Mr.,  44. 

Knox,  Mr.,  14S. 


Ladies  and  Politics,  386-339,  361. 

Laidlaw,  (Jeorge,  of  Kint.iil,  147. 

Laidlaw,  Mr,  of  Traijuair  Knowe,  121. 

Laiillaw,  William,  Scott's  amanuensis,  %iA, 

Lake  escapade^  8S,  et  ite-tj. 

'■  Lalla  Kookh,"  review  of,  164. 

Lamb,  Charies,  44,  26a,  341,  SCO. 


INDEX. 


481 


"Lament,  Captain  Paton's," — versos  by  Lock- 
hart,  attributeii  to  the  Odoutist,  lS'i-184. 

Landon,  Miss,  35S. 

Leaiiinp,  attainini-nts  in,  47,  48. 

Lectures  on  Moral  Philosophy,  preparation  of, 
215-225. 

"Leopard,  the,"  164,  16S. 

Lewis,  Mr.,  44. 

"  Lights  and  Shadows,"  publication  of,  25S,  259, 
2S2. 

Liston,  Eobert,  the  celebrated  surgeon,  consult- 
ation with,  375,  876. 

Literature  and  politics,  159. 

Litl's  Wreniliitna,  94. 

Llovd,  Charles,  of  Low  Brathay,  81,  97,  111,  136, 
836. 

Lloyd  William  H.,  25. 

Lockhart,  Captain,  180. 

LocUhart,  J.  G.,  121,  149,  171-175. 

letters  from,  26ll-2G;i,  27t>-272,  273,  274,  2S2- 

2S4,  2!S6-2SS,  292-294.  324,  40S-413. 

becomes  editor  of  the  Quarterly  Remew, 

292. 

his  last  interview  with  Wilson,  453,  434. 

his  death,  454. 

London,  visits  to,  55,  425. 

Love  episode  in  early  life :  Margaret  of  Dych- 

;    mont,  32-37. 

"— —  poems  dedicated  to,  85-37. 

letters  addressed  to,  43.  44,  57-60. 

letters  on,  to  Fiudlay,  60-65,  6t>-71,  74-77. 

correspondence  between  Blair  and  Findlay, 

65-68,  72, 73. 

Lowndes,  Mr.,  264 

Lowther,  Lord,  94,  294,  296. 

Lubienski,  Leon  Count,  a  Polish  student,  235, 
237. 

Luib,  visits  to,  418,  419,  445. 

Lyndsay.  Mr.,  brother-in-law  of  Professor  Jar- 
dine,  21.    See  Palmes. 


Macaulat,  T.  B.  ;  his  Lays  criticized,  400,  406. 
candidate  for  the  representation  of  Kdia- 

burgh,  450. 
Wilson's  mysterious  mission  to  Edinburgh 

to  vote  for,  451. 
letter  to  Sheriff  Gordon,   expres.sing    his 

kindly  feelings  towards  the   Professor,  451, 

452. 
Macculloch,  Horatio,  407. 
Machell,  James  P.,  96,  294. 
Mackenzie,  Henry,  the  "Man  of  Feeling,"  anec- 
dote of,  45, 46. 

referred  to,  171. 

Mackintosh,  Sir  James,  206,  255. 

Maclaren,  Charles,   editor   of  the    Scotsman, 

323. 
Macleod,  Rev.  Dr.  Norman,  sen.,  24. 
M'CuUoch,  J.  U.,  editor  of  the  /Scotsman,  278. 
M'C^rie,  Kev.  Dr,  171,  190. 
M' Donald,  Lawrence,  234. 
M'Gil)bon,  lie  v.  Mr.,  143. 
M'liityre,  Dr.,  142. 

M'Kenzie,  Alex.,  of  Dingwall,  144-147. 
M'Laren,  Duncan,  463. 
M'Latchie,  Uev.  Dr.  Goorge,  of  Mearns,  Wilson's 

second  instructor,  5-S,  112,  329. 
Ar.Neill,  Mr.,  of  Hayfield,  143. 
M'Neill,    Duncan,    Lord    Justice-General,   121, 

463. 
M'Neill,  Sir  John,  2,  2C9,  414. 
M'Nicol,  James,  143. 


Magdalen  College,  see  O.Tforrt. 

Maginn,  Dr.  William,  27",  288,  239,  298,  364 

Maitland,  Sir  F.,  354,  356. 

Maitland,  Thomas,  121. 

Malo.ilm,  John,  2:i4. 

Malcolm,  Sir  P.,  340. 

M.iltluis,  Kev.  T.  K.,  206. 

"  .Mansie  Waugh,"  302. 

Margaret  of  Dychmont,  see  Love  episode. 

Marriage,  105,  106. 

of  his  daughters  Margaret  and  Mary,  8S6. 

of  his  son  .John,  421. 

of  his  daughter  Jane  Emily,  4'J4. 

'•  Mathctes,"  a  letter  on  Education  by  Blair  and 
Wilson,  85. 

Maulo,  Hon.  Lauderdale,  430. 

Maxwell,  Sir  John,  of  PoUok;  his  reminiscences 
of  Wilson  at  Mearns,  6,  7. 

Mearns  manse,  education  at,  5. 

physical  features  of  the  parish,  5,  6. 

reminiscences  of,  T,  8,  456,  457. 

ac'-ount  of  his  feelings  on  bidding  it  fare- 
well, 12-14. 

Melville,  Lord,  274,  279. 

Memorandum-book,  an  early,  17,  83. 

extracts,  20-26. 

Menzies,  Mr.,  154. 

'•  Mill,  a  little,"  229. 

Miller,  Kobcrt,  bookseller  in  Edinburgh,  131, 
133. 

Millheugh,  34. 

Moir,  Dr.  (Delta),  279,  288. 

letters  to,  290,  291,  299-303,  393,  894,  407. 

MoncrielT,  James  (Lonl  Advocate),  his  letter  to 
Sheriff  Gordon  intimating  the  grant  of  a  pen- 
sion to  Wil.son  of  £:300  per  annum,  447. 

letter  from   Lord  John  Itussell  to,  on  the 

pension,  447. 

Monro,  Dr.  Alex.,  Pi-ofessor  of  Anatomy,  222. 

Montrose,  Marquis  of,  2. 

Monument  to  Professor  Wilson,  463,  464 

Moore,  Thomas,  44,  269,  270,  289. 

Moors,  -'Wee  Kit"  lost  on  the,  8-10. 

Moral  Faculty,  oiigin  of  the.  254. 

Moral  Philosopny  Chair  in  Edinburgh  Univer- 
sity :  becomes  a  cantlidate  for,  202. 

his  competitors,  202,  206. 

Whig  opposition,  202,  206. 

his  moral  character  attacked,  207. 

preiiaration  of  lectures.  214-225. 

the  opening  lecture,  222,  223. 

syllabus  of  his  course,  226-229. 

reminiscences  by  old  students  of  the  Pro- 
fessor and  his  class,' 23 1-256. 

his  last  year  of  public  labor,  443,  etseq. 

resignation  of  his  chair,  446. 

corri-spondence    relating   to  the   Qtieen's 

pension,  447,  448. 

Morehead,  Kev.  Kobert,  111,  112,  192. 

letter  from,  on  the  attack  on  Playfalr,  198- 

195. 

letter  to,  on  the  same,  195l 

Morris,  Captain  Charles.  270. 

Mournins,  wearing  of,  424. 

Moxon,  Edward.  341. 

".Muckle-mou'd  Meg"  of  the  Mearns  manse,  10 
11. 

Muir,  Leezy,  in  search  of  Wee  Kit,  9. 

AJure,  Mrs.,  of  Caldwell.  129. 

Murray,  Kev.  Geor:,'i'.  of  Haliniirlellan,  896. 

Murray,  John  A.  (Lord),  2Tl,  ;i>7. 

Murray.  John,  piibliiher,  272,  292,293. 

Music,  love  of,  22,  431. 


482 


INDEX. 


Mvlne,  Dr.,  264.  I 

Mylnc,  Professor  .Tames.  215.  | 

MysUticalion  connected  with  BlackwooiTs  Mag- 
\tzine,  11)3-107,  lbO-lS2,  ISti,  IS'J. 


Nai'ier,  Andrew,  24. 

N:il>ier,  Miicvey,  196. 

Niuiiralist,  quulificjitions  as  a,  92,  93. 

Nalure,  coininunioii  with,  401. 

Naval  experience,  340-359. 

Keaves,  Lord,  4t)3. 

Newby,  James,  93. 

Nowdigate  prize  at  Oxford,  78,  74. 

Newton,  Mr.,  316. 

Nicolsou,  Alexander,  reminiscences  of  the  1  ro- 

fessor  ami  his  class,  252,  255. 
"  Niintno,  Sir  Peter,"  an  eccentric  visitor  of  the 

College  classes,  240. 

his  interview  with  Wordsworth,  241. 

Nursery,  pulpit  oratory  in  the,  8,  4. 

O'CoNNEi.i.,  Daniel,  reference  to,  in  a  Lecture, 
and  its  effects  on  the  class,  251,252. 

"  Odontist,  The,"  1S2-1S4,  218. 

O'Doherty,  Ensign,  ISS. 

Old  Clothes—-'  Have  you  any?"  240. 

Old  Slop  and  the  Xew  Times,  273. 

Orator,  Wilson's  power  as  an,  249. 

Or<l,  John  W.,  23s;. 

"Ori.han-maid,"  the,  of  Dychmont,  83-35.  hee 
Love  episode. 

"Outlines  of  a  Course  of  Moral  Inquiry,  pro- 
jected, 2bl. 

Oxford :  entered  at  Magdalen  College,  37. 

recollections  of,  in  after  life,  37,  38. 

studies  and  manner  of  life  at,  39-77. 

expenditure  at,  39. 

sketches  of  companions,  43,  44. 

amusements  at,  45,  et  xeq. 

friends  and  acqu.aintance  at,  49. 

-  -  -  reminiscences  of  a  fellow-student,  60-56. 

-  -  -long  solitary  rambles,  62-64. 

examination    for    Degree    of     Bachelor. 

72-74. 


Facet,  Sir  C,  354,  356. 
Paisley,  town  of,  1,  2. 

public  dinner,  379-381. 

Palmes,  Mrs.  (Margaret  Lyndsay),  21. 
Paralysis,  seizes  with  a  shock  of,  461. 
Paralytic  affection  of  the  right  hand,  400,422. 
Park,  .\lungo,  Wilson's  project  of  accompanying 

him  to  Africa,  59,  60. 
Parliament-House  life,  125. 
Paterson,  Deacon,  and  his  "green  bag,    m  Ldin- 

burgh  Town-Couneil,  213-215. 
Patous  (Captain)  Lament,  182-184. 
Pearson,  Mr.,  135.  „     ,.  ,    ^       , 

Peddie,  James,  Wilson's  first  English  teacher, 

Ped^strianism,  feats  of,  24,  65,  62-  64,  101, 122,  et 
.    »(■[„  41."), 
Peebles,  an  adventure  at,  122. 
Peel,  Sir  liobert,  letter  from,  2S1. 

reception  of.  in  Glasgow,  Ssl. 

Penny,  Jjimes,  104.  ,    ^^     ^ 

Penny,  Miss  Jane,  first  meetings  with,  96,  et  seq. 

^fe  Wilson.  Mrs.,  junior.  .^-r  icc 

Penny,  Miss,  letters  of  Mrs.  T\  ilson  to.  187,  Ibb, 

2U5  206,  212  :a04,  313,  318,  328,  829,  381. 


Penny  Rridgc,  Wilson's  visits  to,  and  letters 
from,  329,  330,  3:;2-3:U     .SV^tlleray. 

Periodical  literature,  Wilson's  connection  with, 
153,  «<«*(/.,  399. 

Peters   Letters,  quoted,  16,   17,  164,  171,  li'2, 

Philosophical  Institution  of  Edinburgh,  presi- 
deiuv  of.  420. 

Phv.sieid  eliaraeteristies,  39,  44-48. 

•■l'i/./.aiitrv,"  the  liish.  251. 

Plans  of  composition :  List  of  Subjects  for  med- 
itation, 116.  1  17.  ,     .         nl       I 

Playfair,  Professor  John,  attiicked  in  Black- 
wood, \^<i,  190. 

the  excite-ment  caused  by  it,  190-19O. 

Poetry,  earl V  love  of,  22,  26-32. 

MS.  volume  of.  dedicated  to  "  Margaret, 

verses  from  commonplace-book,  85-87. 

correspondence  as  to  his  first  publication, 

101-104,  107-116. 

propose(l  poems,  116,  318. 

a  second  volume  contemplated,  132. 

publication  of,  132,  133,  136. 

subseiiuent  poems,  818,  819. 

l)riiiciples  oli  422. 

Poets,  criticism  on  the,  130,  131. 

Political  Economy,  proposal  for  a  separate  Chair 

of,  278-281,  833. 
Politics  and  Literature,  159, 160. 

ami>ng  students,  242,  24:5. 

Poor,  kindness  to  the,  385,  3b6. 
Portraits  of  Wilson;  by  Uaeburn,  17. 

Hill's  calotype,  411.  t    ,    ^ 

Portrait  of  Christopher  in  his  Sporting  Jacket, 

428. 
Power,  the  love  of,  illustrated,  245-249. 
Pringle,  Alexander,  121. 
Prinicle,  Mrs.,  134 
Prinijle,  Thomas,  161, 162. 
Printers'  devils,  304,398,  399. 
Proet.ir,  mode  of  shutting  up  a,  49. 
Pseudonyms  of  Lockhart,  180,  185. 
Pugilistic  skill,  46,  47,  229. 
Purdie,  Tom,  263. 

Quarterly  Review,  Lockhart  becomes  editor  of, 
292,  et  seq. 

Kakburn,  Sir  Henry,   Ids  portrait  of  Wilson, 

mansion  at  St.  Bernard  s,  200. 

Regattas  at  Windermere,  97,  285. 

at  Helensburgh,  379. 

"  Eei)resentativc"  newspaper,  293. 

lUchmond,  Mr.,  122. 

Uitchie,  David,  283. 

Uitson,  William,  95,  96,  184. 

Itobertson,  Patrick  (Lord),  121, 149, 151,  loO,  409. 

letter  from,  279,  2S0. 

Lockhart's  joke  on,  286, 

his  mock-heroic  speeches  at  social  gather- 
ings, 430. 

Kog-r,  Kab,  In  search  of  little  Kit,  9 

Itoslin,  life  at.  after  his  Nyfe  s  death.  384-3J0. 

Uouth,  Dr.  M.  J.,  President  of  Magdalen  Col- 
Rover,  the  dog.'  and  the  witch,  871,  872,  889. 

Russell,  Lord  John,  411.  , 

letter  to  the  Lord  Advocate  on  Wilson  a 

pension.  447. 


INDEX. 


483 


Eussell,  Lor<!  John ;    'Wnson's  letter  to,  443. 
Russell,  Itev.  William,  73. 
Riitlierfurd.  Andri-w  (Lord),  121,  387,  463. 
dcuth  of  Mrs.  liulherfurd,  457,  458. 


"Bailor's  Life  at  Sea,"  a  favorite  song  of  the 

Professor's.  431. 
Saturday  in  tlie  class,  238,  239. 
Scandler,  Dr.,  1!U. 
Schotky,  John,  376. 
"Scorpiiin,  the,"  164, 16S. 
Scott,  Dr.  James,  of  Glasgow,  "  the  Odontist," 

181,  182-184,  213. 
Sox.tt,  Sir  Walter,  112,  130,  171.  179. 
letter  to  the   Lord  Provost  of  Edinburgh, 

recoinmen<liii<r  Wilson  for  the  Chair  of  Moral 

Philosopliv,  210-212. 

his  vi.sil  t(.  Klleray.284,  285. 

ScoW  Mayiiziue.  160. 

Sharpe,  (.:.  Kirkpatrick,  171,  1^7. 

'•Shaving"  and  its  iiiterruptioii.s,  4.?5. 

Sheplitrd,  (r.,  Wilsons  e.xaniiner  at  0.^ford,  73. 

"Sliiells,  Tibby,"  visit  of  the  Professor  and  his 

students  to,  231. 
Sibthorpe,  Mr.,  49. 

Smith,  Dr.  (Jolin,  of  Inverary;   his  reminiscen- 
ces of  Wilson,  124-126,  140, 141. 
Smith,  John,  publisher  in  Glasgow,  71. 
letters  to,  on  the  publication  of  his  poems, 

101-104,  107-116. 

ottered  a  second  volume,  132,  13.3,  136. 

letters  on  the  Moral  Philosophy  Chair,  214, 

21.5,  224,  225. 
Smith,  Kev.  William  ;  his  reminiscences  of  the 

Professor  and  his  chiss,  243-254. 
Snow-ball  riot,  289,  240. 
Social  hours  aX  Maudlin^  50,  51. 
Social  meetings,  reminiscences  of,  429-431, 
Sonnet  on  the  hour  of  death,  462. 
Sotheby,  William,  72. 

letter  from,  335,  836. 

Southey,  llol)ert,  SI,  130,314,  316. 

Southwell,  It.  II.,  reminiscences  of  Wilson  at 

Oxford,  50-55. 
Spain,  expedition  to,  meditated,  98, 100. 
Sparrow,  a  domesticated,  389,  438. 
Sl)cculative  Society,  117. 
Speed  in  composition,  .899. 
Spenser,  series  of  papers  on,  873. 
Spiders  and  their  habits,  92. 
Sporting-Jacket,  the  Professor  in  his,  229. 

portrait  of,  428. 

Sports,  early  development  of  his  passion  for,  8, 

4,  II,  12,  24,45. 

pugilistic  skill,  46,  47. 

attainments  as  a  leapor,  47,  48,  95.     See  Pe- 

destriariism. 

skill  in  wrestling, 45,  94,  95,  127,  810,  830. 

yachting,  379. 

Sqiiadron,  Experimental,  cruise  with  the;   let- 
ters to  Mrs.  Wilson  during,  340-359. 
Stanley  Shaw,  1. 

Statue,  i)ro|)08ed,of  Wilson,  463,  4f4. 
St.  M  ary 's  Loch,  the  Professor  and  his  "  children" 

at,  231. 
6t.-ell,  John,  R.  S.  A.,  463. 
Stewart,  Dugald,  20^,  et  xeq. 
Stewart,  Mr.,  of  Inverhadden.  1.54. 
Stewart,  Mr.,  of  Uallaohuli.sh.  12-3. 
Stewart,  William,  autlior  of  Highland  Sketcries, 

126. 
Buewart,  Sir  Henry,  807. 


Stoddart.  Sir  John,  273. 

Stoddart,  T.  T.,  238. 

Street  scene,  a,  424,  43.5. 

Strolling  jduyers,  48. 

Stud,  tit,  character  as  a,  'ee  College  life. 

Stiulents,  intereouise  with,  231,  234-239. 

care  in  e.xamininL'  their  essays,  253. 

Study,  the  Professor" s,  31)6.  397. 

Swiuton,  Professor  Archibald,  23S. 

Syms.  the.  2. 

grandfather  and  grandmother  of  Wilson, 

20,  21. 
Svm,  Catharine,  21.140. 
Sym,  Robert   ("Timothy  Tickler"),  2,  20,  176, 

179. 
Synge,  Edward,  50. 
'•Syntax,  Dr.,"  an  Edinburgh  character,  241,  242 

Talfoukd,  Sir  Thomas  Noon,  letter  from,  on  his 
absence  from  the  lUirns  Festival,  416,  417. 

Tarland,  niarket-ilays  at,  •23'2. 

T.iylor,  Misses,  134. 

"Teogar,  oure  John's,"  4. 

Tennant,  Professor  William,  of  St.  Andrews, 
13-2. 

Tennvson,  Alfred,  review  of  his  Poems,  3S9, 
34o; 

Thirlstane  Castle,  a  summer  at,  371-374. 

Thomson,  Rev.  Dr.  Andrew,  171,  190. 

Thoms<<n,  Thomas,  271,  27'2,  i&i. 

Thorp,  Rev.  Charles,  73. 

"Timothy  Tickler,"  see  Sym,  Robert 

Tinkers,  adventure  with,  140. 

Tipperarv  shillelaghs,  49. 

Tt.ilette,  peculiarities  of  Wilson's,  435. 

Tonantoul,  126,  14.5. 

a<iventun'  at  the  fair,  146, 14T. 

Torrance,  34,  71,  77, 

Tory,  anecdotes  of  the  dog,  390,  891. 

"Ti-ials  of  Margaret  Lyndsay,"  282. 

Tytler,  Fraser,  121,  171. 


Ullock,  Mrs.,  134, 185. 


W.,Miss,  of  Dvchmont,  8.3,  84. 

Wakelield,  Edward  Gibbon,  294,  295. 

Wales,  excursion  in,  67. 

Warden,  Mr.,  346. 

Wardlaw,  Rev.  Dr.,  214. 

Wateh.  the  Professor  and  his,  435,  436. 

Watson,  liishop,  81,114. 

Watson,  George,  205,  297. 

Wats.iU,  Richard,  90,  93,  321. 

Watson,  Miss  I).,  letter  from,  886,  337. 

Watts.  Alaric  A_  264,  317. 

Waugh.  Edwin,  95. 

Whics,  their  opjiosition  to  Wilson  when  can- 
didate for  the  Chairof  Moral  Philosophy, •202. 
20(5. 

White,  Rev.  James,  of  Bonchurch,  864,365. 

^\  ilkie.  Sir  David.  31(i. 

Wilson,  Andrew.  '2,  115. 

Wils.n,  Blair,  4;}4. 

letters  to,  808,  809,  48S-441,  450,  452. 

Wilson,  James,  171. 

Wilson,  Robert  Sym,  of  Woodburn,  446. 
Wilson,  Mrs.,  senior,  family  of,  2. 

renio\es  with  the  family  to  Edinburgh,  If 

her  domestic  management,  119-121. 

herdeath,276,277, 


484 


INDEX. 


"Hilson,  Mr8..  jnnior,  105, 106,  112. 

her  pedestrian  tour  in  the  Highlands.  122- 

129. 

.-iccitlcnt  to,  276, 2T7. 

1-tters  to  her  sister,  Miss  Penny,  187,  ISS, 

20:.  20C,  2J2,  32>.  .3>9,  3S1,  3s2. 

her  <i.-:ith,  3v2,  3s>3. 

Wilson  Faniilv,  2. 
Wilson's  Hal!,'  Taisley,  1. 
Wlnderuiere  L-ilie,  69,  78. 

boatini;  on,  *S. 

regattas  at.  97,  2S5. 

Woodburn.  visit  to  his  brother  at,  446. 

takes  up  his  abode  there,  446-455. 

Wordsworth,  William,  letter  to,  26-32. 


Wordsworth,  William  ;  first  meeting  with,  81. 

his  "White  Doe,"  130. 

Jeffrey's  estimate  of  his  poetry,  138. 

mentioned,  312,  817. 

"Writing  for  Blackwood,"  its  significance  in  tho 
family,  897. 


Tareow,  e.\ctirsion  to  the,  121. 

York,  Dnke  of,  271. 

Young,  Professor,  of  Glasgow,  15,  16. 

Wilson's  reminiscences  of,  10. 

first  published  poems  dedicated  to,  118. 

Youth,  remarks  on  the  importance  of  this  p* 
riod  of  life,  8. 


THE    END. 


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